


Outlaw King

by King_Of_Kingz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age of Heroes(mentioned), BAMF Ashara Dayne, BAMF Ned Stark, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Eldric Shadowchaser, Epic Battles, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Lyanna Stark Lives, Mother-Son Relationship, Ned and Lyanna are not in good terms, No Robert's Rebellion, Powerful North, Prophecy&Myth&Lore, Rhaegar Lives, Romance, The King in The North, The Long Night, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), direwolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Of_Kingz/pseuds/King_Of_Kingz
Summary: Robert's Rebellion was preserved but at the cost of Princess Elia and her children. Westeros remains under a mask named peace with a new king on the Iron Throne. Amidst all the games, dramas and treachery a young lord and his lady tries to find comfort in each other. But in the Game of Thrones you win or you lose, there is no middle ground.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Ashara Dayne, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Arryn & Ned Stark, Jon Arryn & Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn/Lysa Tully Arryn, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rhaegar Targaryen/Elia Martell(past), Robert Baratheon & Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 109
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

_**Eddard** _

The Godswood was peace and quiet and it filled his heart with calmness despite the worries it was filled with. He should not be here, Ned knew it. He should be with her, with his wife just like she'd had stayed with him at every turn when he was broken, step by step. At Harrenhal she was there to comfort him, when Rhaegar broke his sister's honor and brought shame upon his entire family. When his father, brother and goodsister died at King's Landing at the hands of the Mad King she had been there with him. When his sister climbed up the steps of the Iron Throne, hand in hand with Rhaegar Targaryen over the dead bodies of their father, brother and good sister, killing what little of the Ned Stark he had in him, she was there to comfort him. Even when her brother Ser Arthur Dayne urged her to go back to Starfall, his wife refused to go.

"I'll stay with my husband, Arthur. Just like you stayed with your Dragonlords." She had said to her brother. Ned could still remember the look Ser Arthur had directed at him. He had thought for sure that he was going to die right then and there, courtesy of Dawn, but even the Sword of the Morning never shone brighter than his sister. With a few dozen words back and forth, Ned had seen the Sword of the Morning bested for the first time in a duel, losing to his sister in the duel of words. It was the first time Ned had seen Ser Arthur being bested but by the look of it, it was clear as a sunny day for him that even the Sword of the Morning had lost most of his duels with the man's sister.

Ned had never wanted to go there to see them in the first place but then he had wanted to see if it was true what the people were talking about. He had desperately wanted it only to be a rumor. When he had asked Ashara to accompany him to King's Landing she had accepted without a word against it.They were never truly married in the eyes of the men and the laws then, only a traditional one before the Heart Tree of Harrenhall with only Ser Arthur Dayne and Howland Reed to see them get married but still she never refused him. She agreed to accompany him without a word against it.

He had wanted to see it with his own eyes and he saw them. Never once he had thought that his sister would climb the throne over the bodies of their family. But then never once had he thought that she would bring herself apart from their family.

When he had met his sister in the Red Keep his old self was completely hidden to him. He had always wondered of seeing her sister's marriage but not like this. He had thought to see his father and brother in it, not their bones, one burnt the other with dried off meat. Standing in the same hall where they had died once he could only see one thing alone. His father and brother died for nothing. That was when he had thought to make it right. The world would see that his father and brother didn't die for nothing. The North Remembers and he would remember even if his sister forgot. He had left his sister coldly that day, with the bones of his father, brother and his brother's wife. At least Lyanna had given him their bones and he had thanked her for that.

The entire journey back he had felt like a dead man, nothing more than the bones of his father or brother. Even then it was Ashara who brought him back from that grave thoughts. She filled his world with the things he had once thought of never seeing again. In everything he had done, she was there with him.

And now he was here when she needed him the most. Kneeling before the weirwood looking upon the sad red face. Ned wasn't sure of what he was doing there. He was supposed to be with his wife right now, holding her hands, soothing her with sweet words like the way she had done to him in his hard times. But he was so afraid to do that.

He wasn't sure what he was afraid of. He couldn't hear her screams, he couldn't hear Maester Walys' words, he couldn't hear the hushed talks of the women inside, he couldn't do anything. He was afraid to do anything. By the time when Ashara's screams grew louder Ned knew what he was afraid of. He was afraid of losing her.

When Ned thought that he could not take it anymore he had left for the Godswood since it was the one place where he felt peace after everything that had happened, that and Ashara's arms. All the way to the Godswood he heard the hushed talks of his people. 'Lady Stark would die' was what most of them said. Everyone said how sweet and kind their new Lady was and it will be hard to lose her. All through his walk alone to the Godswood Ned heard talks throughout the walk and none of them was what he had wanted to hear.

It has been nearly a day since Ashara had gone to her birthing bed and with every passing moment Ned dreaded the fact about the people's words becoming true. He had been here for some time now not even sure of what to ask the nameless Gods of the north. He was confused if he should ask for his wife or child or both of them. Spare my wife even if that meant my child's life, a part of him said. The other part told him to ask for his child because that is what Ashara would want. Their firstborn, made with the entirety of their love. But almost all of him asked for both of them. He knew he was being wrong in demanding the Old Gods, but he didn't want to lose Ashara too. He had lost everything and his wife was the one who had kept him collected after that and he didn't want to lose her now.

He stayed in the Godswood which seemed like days until he heard the voice of Jory calling after him. "My lord," Jory Cassel said coming out of the trees, breathing heavily. Suddenly Ned's heart beat in a quicker pace dreadful of the news Jory had brought him. Ned donned his lord's mask suddenly hiding the worries for his wife behind it. "What is it, Jory?" He asked strong and stern as Lord Stark.

"Lady Stark has requested your presence, my lord," Jory said wasting no time, waiting for Ned to come.

Ned looked at the sad red face on the Weirwood once again. He didn't like to leave his prayers just like that. Please let both of them be safe he said in his heart looking back at his Gods. "Let's go then," Ned said walking past Jory. His legs took him back the way he came even when he wasn't very clear about walking in his mind.

Everyone in Winterfell had a sombre face that day. It is not going to be a day for smiles, Ned thought. The household of Winterfell bowed their heads and greeted him with 'My Lord' but only with a sad face and not the usual happy face they used to greet him with. He reached the Lord's chambers where his wife was giving birth to their first child. Ser Rodrik, Martyn Cassel and Vayon Poole stood in the same place where they had stood when he had left them, to go to the Godswood.

Ned stood before the door for a few moments. He could hear a sharp cry from the inside again. Ashara, he thought and entered his chambers. The room was filled with the smell of blood. He could see his wife on the bed, her black hair disheveled and sticking to her face. Even in that state Ned could not help but think how beautiful she was.

"Ned," Ashara's tired face lit up when she saw him. A faint smile touched her dried lips. Ned dropped to one knee beside the bed his wife was lying on.

"Ash," he brushed her wet strands of hair back from her forehead. His wife smiled at him, even that small thing seemed hard for her.

"My lady you need to push for the baby's sake and yours as well," Maester Walys urged.

Ned looked back to the maester and then to his wife. He nodded and took her hand in his and held it firmly. Ashara shut her eyes tightly and pushed with all her might gripping his hand painfully tight. A midwife brought a cup of water to her parched lips and Ashara took a sip from it.

His wife took a breath and tried it again, holding his hand with all the strength she could muster.

"You're doing good my lady, very good," Maester Walys said.

Ashara smiled at that. Always gentle and kind, Ned thought looking at his wife. Please, he pleaded to the Old Gods again. Ned wiped the sweat from her forehead. Ashara looked pleased at that. She pushed again one more time. "That's it, my lady," Maester Walys urged, "I could see the head now."

Ashara gripped his hands tighter and pushed again. With a cry she fell back on the bed relaxed. And a cry of a lighter tone echoed his wife's. Ned turned back to look at the Maester. A midwife was already there near him with the clothes. "It's a healthy baby boy," Maester Walys announced.

Ned looked back to his wife. Ashara smiled so brightly that the tiredness from her face vanished. Ned returned a smile and planted a kiss at her lips. Her lips were wet with the water she had drunk in the process.

The midwife came to them with a bundle. A bundle of joy, Ned thought. "He is beautiful my lord, my lady," the midwife said and placed the bundle of clothes in Ashara's hands. Ashara held their son against her breast and Ned leaned in to get a look at his son. And he saw his boy, nestled among the clothes, all pink and calm as if he was seeing a pleasant dream. "He is beautiful," Ned rested his head against his wife enjoying every bit of the moment. It had been long since Ned Stark had felt as happy and whole as now. He has a baby now. A beautiful baby boy just like he had thought him to be. The very first start of their new dawn in their hands now. A family, a pack of his own to make up for the one he had lost. He reached for his son and gently caressed his son's dark hair, so dark to be his and which was only Ashara's. "He has your hair," he chuckled lightly. Their baby opened his eyes as he was disturbed by the touch. Dark gray eyes looked up at both of them and filled both of them with pure joy. Nothing else, Ned knew, this is nothing else but pure joy.

"And your eyes," Ashara faintly touched their son's cheek with her finger. The baby clearly loved his mother's affection as he moved further against Ashara's finger. Ned held Ashara close to him and kissed her cheek, so happy for giving him such a beautiful son. "What shall we name him?" Ashara asked him never once taking his eyes off their son.

Ned hadn't really thought about that thing but he thought that his wife deserved to name their son after everything she had done for him. "What do you think?" He asked moving closer against her.

Ashara stayed silent for a few moments looking closely at their baby with a smile. "Andrew," she said at last. "He is both northern and southern like us," she smiled, "and he will have both of us in him."

"A strong name for a strong heir, my lady," Maester Walys said. At that Ned came back to the realisation that they were not alone. He had forgotten the Maester and the others in the room as he saw the wonder he had made with Ashara. "Shall we inform the people, my lord? They would be happy to hear it."

"Yes, inform them Maester Walys," Ned said. Winterfell was home and everyone here was like a family to both him and his wife and now to their son as well. "And send ravens to the bannermen as well," Ned commanded. "They will be happy to see him as well."

The maester nodded, smiling. He left the chambers to do the duties Ned gave for him. When Maester Walys left the chambers Ned was left alone with his wife and the midwives who cleared the bloody clothes and furs off the bed. A huge cheer followed shortly after Maester Walys left and Ned knew what that cheer was for. He looked at Ashara. Ashara gave him a smile which Ned returned back. They both looked down at their sleeping son, so calm and quiet and good. Future was in their hands now and Ned knew it for sure hearing the loud cheer. Hope has returned, not only to him but to the entire North. Dawn has come at last after a long last night, in the form of his son.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Ashara**_

In the yard below, Ned was talking with Ser Rodrik and Maester Walys.

Ashara watched from her window seat, gently rocking her son to sleep. The guards were going on with their morning drills even though Ser Rodrik wasn't looking over to instruct. The yard ringed with the sound of steel and sword. As she sat there listening to the song of steel, all the memories came flooding back to her. She remembered looking at her brother Arthur from the window of the Palestone Sword at Starfall when she was no more than a little girl of five. Ashara had always loved the view from the Palestone Sword. Even as a boy her brother had been so good at swordfighting, going as far as to best men twice his age. Becoming the Sword of the Morning had been her brother's aim even as a little boy who would make her laugh like no one has ever done. That had became his identity now. The Sword of the Morning, the most famed knight in the entire Seven Kingdoms. Everyone knew him as the stone faced, grim looking white knight but there was more than that to her brother. Sweet brother who used to sit with her and her mother while her mother would fix flowers in her hair. Ashara had always loved white roses in her hair. Her brother always told her that her hair looked like a starry night sky with the roses. Arthur was the one who taught her to ride her first horse. It came to her so vividly that she could almost feel the warm sunlight in her face and the wind blowing against her hair. Her brother would take her to some rides, to race in the beach, to hunt in the woods surrounding Starfall, to fish in the Torentine much to her Septa's distaste, but that had never stopped her brother though.

She remembered how young and happy they all had been. But one by one everything had left, Aaron kept himself occupied with more and more of lordly duties, Arthur became the Sword of the Morning only to leave Starfall, to wear the white cloak and armor to match his white blade. And she was taught in the ways of a noble lady, to sew pretty things, to sing songs and to dance. Within few years she was sent from Starfall to join her brother in King's Landing, as the new and young handmaiden of Princess Elia Martell. "Find the one worthy enough to capture your heart," her father had said the day she went with her brother to take up her new duties. And she did, thought Ashara looking down at her husband, only not where her father had thought her to.

It has been years since Ashara had seen any of her family or visit her home. Winterfell was her home now no matter how much she yearned for the warm days of Starfall, not after she had shared Ned's bed and borne him a son. Ashara looked down at her son. Andrew looked so peaceful and quiet in her arms still asleep even though he had spent the whole night sleeping. So much like her father, Ashara thought caressing her son's nose. Though Andrew is only a babe at her breast it wasn't hard for her to make out the Stark features, the long face and grey eyes which were undoubtedly Ned's. Not only in the looks but in everything else he was Ned's son. Andrew wasn't a noisy baby, he was quiet and calm even when she has to leave him for a bath or to dress. Her hand moved over to fondle with her baby's dark hair. Ashara was so happy that her baby had her hair that at least some part of him was hers. It made her feel proud that some part of her and her family still lived on through her son. Some part of her late father and mother, Lord Eldric and Lady Alysanne who hadn't got the chance to see their first grandchild, to hold him or to kiss him or to show him the tapestries of Gods in the Hall of Gods, some part of Aaron and Allyria and some part of Arthur. Once Ashara had told her brother that one day her son would wield Dawn after him being so disappointed that girls couldn't be the Sword of the Morning. Her brother had laughed at that. "Of course he will be. And I can't wait to see him." Her brother had told her laughing. She had smacked his hand at that but her brother had only laughed even more. Even Arthur was not here to see her son.

She wondered how her life has changed in this last few years. One day she was Lady Ashara Dayne, daughter of Lord Eldric Dayne who danced with Lord Eddard Stark, the second son of Lord Rickard Stark and the next day she was Lady Ashara Stark wife of Lord Eddard Stark. Maybe both their lives changed a lot through the tough times. One day her Ned was the second son of Lord Rickard and the next he was Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. He had lost his family as well. Ned couldn't see his father as well, he could only get back his bones and his brother's.

Ned was still there in the yard when she looked down. He had so many duties as the Lord of Winterfell now that the Lords of the North were visiting Winterfell to see their liege lord's heir, her son. And it was her duty as the Lady of Winterfell to welcome the arriving lords with her husband and to make sure of the things for the feast but she had been given rest from her duties.

Lord Wyman Manderly was the first one to arrive. He had arrived from White Harbor two days past, traveling by barge and litter, as he was too fat to sit a horse. Even from her distant seat Ashara could see how fat the man really was. With him had come a long tail of retainers: knights, squires, lesser lords and ladies, heralds, musicians, even a juggler, all aglitter with banners and surcoats in what seemed half a hundred colors. Ned had welcomed them to Winterfell from his high stone seat with the direwolves carved into the arms, alone without her. She always used to sit with Ned whenever her husband holds court or receives visitors but now she was too tired to do that. But today she has to receive the Lords and present her son to them. That wouldn't be much of a problem, thought Ashara, she was feeling good today compared to yesterday or the day before.

She understood why Ned was standing in the yard for a long time when she saw the column of men and heard the hooves of the horses. Black banners emblazoned with a white sunburst streamed from the pikes of both the footmen and the horsemen alike. The Karstarks, Ashara knew at once. Being a lady from one of the oldest houses in Westeros she was tutored well enough to name the banners of the lords throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Lord Rickard Karstark was at the head of the party. From what Ashara had known the Karstarks were kin with the Starks of Winterfell with the blood of the Starks running through their veins. But Rickard Karstark did not look like Stark to Ashara. Lord Rickard was a gaunt and large man, with a thick beard and hair loose past his shoulders. She saw her husband greet Lord Karstark, the words of pleasantries between them was lost for her as she was too far to hear.

"There are more men than I've thought," Ashara said worrying whether the household of Winterfell had made all the preparations to meet the needs of so many people.

"Ah, yes," Old Nan agreed, from the chair where she sat doing her needlework. "In all my life I've never seen a birth celebrated so much like your boy's."

That was true, Ashara knew not only by the men coming to see her son but by the way the household of Winterfell cheered on his birth. The people had cheered so loud that Ashara thought that there was no need to send ravens to the lords, she was certain that the shout alone was enough to get the entire north come here. All for her son.

"I hope that Ned would have made all the necessary preparations for the feast," Ashara sighed leaning back against her chair. She should have gone to make sure that it was done perfect, then she wouldn't worry this much now. Damn you, Ned. Her husband was not the same shy boy she had seen at Harrenhal, he was a hard man now known to the sharp ways of this world yet he still showed his soft and gentle way with her. He never even visited their marriage bed once Maester Walys confirmed that she was with child. Not that she hated his softness for her in truth she loved it more and more but this was unnecessary. She was tired, but not now. She had her strength enough to prepare Winterfell for this feast but Ned had promised to take care of everything and asked her to rest. He left Old Nan with her all day now, to watch over her and and their son and to keep her from being lonely. She would want to ask Maester Walys about it after.

"I remember your Ned's birth and all of his siblings' none was much special as this," Old Nan said never taking her eyes off her knitting.

She was a very old woman, Ashara observed; shrunken and wrinkled, almost blind, too weak to climb stairs, with only a few wisps of white hair left to cover a mottled pink scalp. No one really knew how old she was, but Ned said she'd been called Old Nan even when he was a boy. And it must be real if what Old Nan told about Ned's birth was true.

"Your boy's birth was a most awaited one my lady," Old Nan said with her toothless smile, her needles moving all the while, click click click. "For years Winterfell has stayed so silent as a grave but that all ended with your son's birth." Ashara looked at her son and then at Old Nan.

"You know why they cheered so loud that day at his birth?" Old Nan looked at Andrew. Hope... Ashara was about to answer but the Old Woman beat her to it. "Hope my lady. The hopeful times are back. Your boy's birth is not just a birth, it is the return of hope to the north." Andrew awoke from his sleep and fussed at that. Ashara closed the narrow windows and pushed the strap of her gown down her shoulder to expose her breast. Andrew latched onto her breast easily and Ashara hummed as her son began to feed.

"In terrible times hope is the best way to get over it," Old Nan said going on with her needlework. "And your boy is the hope of the entire north. He is a special boy my lady and he needs a special mother. So lessen your worries, Lord Eddard would do fine."

He would, Ashara believed that. When Andrew finished his feeding she fixed her clothing, rocking him to help him get back to sleep. She stood up from her chair to stretch her legs and went to the door. Ashara opened the door and found Tomard standing guard. She had learned the names of the guards and the household of Winterfell, even if she couldn't manage to learn all of their names she knew the names of most of them in Winterfell.

"My lady," the fat man bowed his head when he saw her.

Ashara greeted him with a nod, rocking her son in her arms. "Could you get Lynora for me?" Ashara asked.

"At once milady," Fat Tom bowed once more before going in search for her hand maiden. Ashara closed the door once more and returned to her window seat.

"You would want to get ready for the feast my lady," Old Nan said.

"I know," Ashara said.

Her son had fallen asleep again by the time her handmaiden arrived. Lynora rushed in through the door with the foods for her. The poor girl was breathing heavily and reached the table somehow without spilling over the food. Ashara wasn't sure that she should call Lynora a girl. Lynora was of her age maybe a bit older. Her husband had brought her to Winterfell from Winter Town so that Ashara could have the company of the women of her age. Still it made sense for her to call her handmaiden a girl since Ashara is already a wife and a mother now.

"Careful," Ashara advised. "There is no need for rush."

"I'm sorry milady," Lynora said, her pretty freckled face breathless.

"Take Andrew to the cradle," Ashara told the girl. Lynora obeyed at once somewhat calm now. Ashara kissed her son's soft cheeks and gently placed him in her handmaiden's arms, slowly careful enough to not arouse him from his sleep. Her son had the knack of going to sleep in her arms; only in her arms. It would be a disaster for her to put him back to sleep.

Lynora took Andrew to the cradle, all the way looking at her son as if he is some precious thing she had never seen. Girls, Ashara smiled looking at Lynora. When Ashara had been a young girl back at Starfall, she would look at her sister Allyria the same way Lynora looked at her son now. Arthur would accompany her whenever he could. He would be too observed with their sister that Ashara would always think that if he was making sure that Allyria had everything in order.

Allyria would be a girl now with their brother in Starfall. Wylla would be there to help her, the thought gave her a little comfort. She took her midday meal in the chambers, bread fresh from the oven with a roasted duck's breast and two boiled eggs. The food wasn't as spicy or rich in flavours like the foods she had in the south but it was good and gave her strength unlike the fancy southron things.

When she was done with the food Lynora took the plates down to the kitchen. Ashara asked her to come back to help her with the bath. Lynora came back with servants carrying pails of hot water for her bath behind her. When her bath was prepared Lynora came back for her.

Ashara moved near her son's cradle, he was asleep still. Old Nan must have sensed her worries she gave a chuckle. "Go on my lady, I'll watch over the little lord," she said much to Ashara's surprise. Old Nan was a blind woman yet she sensed her worries somehow. She had been a mother too, maybe mothers could sense other mothers' feelings, the girl inside her said.

"Milady the water would turn cold," Lynora urged her. Ashara followed her handmaiden to the bath. She got off her gown and small clothes. Her body hadn't changed much after the birth as she had thought it to. Her old form was still with her with skin soft and smooth as summer silk. The only difference she could see was the stretch marks that had come from the birth and her breasts, tender and full and ripe with milk for Andrew.

"You're beautiful my lady," Lynora said from behind. "Which scent do you prefer today?"

"Rose please," Ashara said getting into the warm water. The warm water soothed her skin better than she had thought, both from the cold and her pains. Lynora added the scented rose oil to the water and soon the steam from the water filled the room with the rich scent of rose. Her handmaiden brushed her long dark hair free of knots and tangles. The girl took extra care while brushing her skin, rubbing her back and cleaning her feet.

When she was so clean that she glowed pink, Lynora helped her out of the water and dried the water off her body with woolen towels. She chose her favourite sweet scent of lavender and Lynora dabbed some on her finger and touched Ashara behind each ear, and under her chin, and then lightly on her nipples. Her handmaiden dressed her in silken smallclothes and brought the gown she had chosen for the feast, a lilac velvet gown to bring out the violet in her eyes. The gown was so fine, made with rich and plush velvet that it made her feel as if she had worn a layer of snow hugging her skin. The skirts of the gown were long and full and had silver direwolves chasing silver stars patterned in the hem. Lynora tightened the laces of her gown made from threads of silver. Her handmaiden cinched her middle with a silver sash around her slender waist, crusted with amethysts cut into stars. She wore her glass slippers and the silver chain, the only things she possessed from Starfall, the glass slippers, a gift from her father and the silver chain, a gift from her mother. The glass slippers were crafted so fine with clear crystal, high and slender in the heels strong enough to hold the heavy activities of even women twice her weight. The chain was frosted silver, so thin that she could not feel it around her neck with a tiny glass star for the pendant.

"How many men are we hosting Lynora?" Ashara asked asked her handmaiden went on with finishing touches of her clothes.

"I don't know for sure, my lady," Lynora said as she straightened her skirts. "But it is an impressive number for even Winterfell."

Hope, Old Nan's words ran through her head. You shouldn't worry. But she couldn't help but worry. This was the first feast in Winterfell with her as the Lady of Winterfell and she didn't wanted it to turn sour.

"I'll need you no more for the night, Lynora," Ashara said looking at her handmaiden. "Take your time and get yourself pretty. We wouldn't want to embarrass ourselves before the lords now do we?" She smiled at her handmaiden. "And pick the fragrance you like. I hope lemon is still in your taste?"

The girl blushed. "Thank you milady." She bowed her head and left the room. The sun had gone down and Winterfell was lit with candles and hearth fires when she came back to her son. Old Nan was there, still knitting. The old woman had been here from the morning so Ashara asked Fat Tom to take her back to her room for the feast. Andrew was awake in his cradle, eyes gazing up at the grey granite ceiling. He was too little to show his expressions but Ashara could see that his face lit up when he saw her. She couldn't help but smile at her son's little face. "How are you my little wolf?" She picked her son in her arms, cooing over him. Clothing Andrew wasn't a big problem for her since he was too young to wear his lordling clothes. She wrapped her son in the best wools and velvets, heavy enough to keep the cold away from him.

When the time came for her to go to the feast Ned came to her chambers to escort her to the Great Hall. "Ash you're beautiful," he planted his lips against hers, a little too roughly than the kisses he used to give her. He looked down at their son in her arms. "How are you both doing?"

"Fine," Ashara said.

Ned nodded and offered his hand, the same way he had offered for their dance at Harrenhal. Ashara smiled at the memory and accepted his hand. Her husband led her through the halls of Winterfell.

"Did you make every preperations for the feast?" Ashara asked as they moved through a door with two men standing guard in grey cloaks.

"I did," Ned said at once. "I tasked Maester Walys with it."

Ashara nodded believing that Maester Walys must have done the necessary works. They stopped briefly before the wide oak-and-iron doors of the Great Hall of Winterfell. Ned nodded to one of the men flanked the doors and the door opened before them.

Winterfell's Great Hall was filled with eight long rows of trestle tables, four on each side of the center aisle. Men crowded shoulder to shoulder on the benches. "Stark!" they called as Ashara walked past with Ned, rising to their feet. "Winterfell! Winterfell!"

She knew what they shouted for—it was their hope they cheered for, it was Ned and his father and his grandfather and all the Starks going back eight thousand years, it was for her son. It made her swell with pride.

Ned took his place in the high seat of his fathers and Ashara sat to her husband's right. Maester Walys was seated at Ned's left.

The Hall grew quiet when Ned stood up. Her husband raised his voice. He welcomed them to Winterfell and asked them to thank the gods old and new for everything. "May the gods be with us in all we do," Ned finished, raising his silver goblet.

"In all we do!" Pewter tankards, clay cups, and iron-banded drinking horns clashed together. They are talking about war, Ashara thought holding her son close. "The North Remembers," Ned had told her the day they married before the eyes of the men. The memory sent chills down her spine the same way it had been on the day Ned had told her those words.

Down the table the servers began to carry in the food.

Such food that Ashara was certain that it fit a royal feast; course after course after course, so much that she could not manage more than a bite or two of each dish. There were great joints of aurochs roasted with leeks, venison pies chunky with carrots, bacon, and mushrooms, mutton chops sauced in honey and cloves, savory duck, peppered boar, goose, skewers of pigeon and capon, beef-and-barley stew, cold fruit soup. Lord Wyman had brought twenty casks of fish from White Harbor packed in salt and seaweed; whitefish and winkles, crabs and mussels, clams, herring, cod, salmon, lobster and lampreys. There was black bread and honeycakes and oaten biscuits; there were turnips and pease and beets, beans and squash and huge red onions; there were baked apples and berry tarts and pears poached in strongwine. Wheels of white cheese were set at every table, above and below the salt, and flagons of hot spice wine and chilled autumn ale were passed up and down the tables.

Lord Wyman's musicians played bravely and well, but harp and fiddle and horn were soon drowned beneath a tide of talk and laughter, the clash of cup and plate, and the snarling of hounds fighting for table scraps. The singer sang good songs, "Iron Lances" and "The Burning of the Ships" and "The Bear and the Maiden Fair," but only the simple-minded giant Hodor seemed to be listening. He stood beside the piper, hopping from one foot to the other.

The noise swelled to a steady rumbling roar, a great heady stew of sound. Ned talked with Maester Walys and Ser Rodrik from the high table while down the table the lords were enjoying with their fellow lords of the north.

The serving men brought every dish to Ned and her first. After some of the dishes had passed her husband nodded his approval at each course in turn, and waved it away. He send some exotic special dishes to one of the lords on the dais, a gesture of friendship. Ned never send his favors for the lords alone, he also send favors for the commoners.

Her husband sent some salmon down to Lord Galbart Glover whose lands were too far inland for them to get seafood, the boar to the boisterous Lord Umber, a dish of goose-in-berries to Lord Rickard Karstark, and a huge lobster to Martyn Cassel. Ashara for her part sent sweets to Old Nan and Hodor, Old Nan's only blood relation, a roasted pheasant for Maester Walys, a thanks for putting all his efforts in bringing her son to this world safely and for putting up the feast and a honeyed chicken to her handmaiden.

On the benches below, Winterfell men mixed with smallfolk from the winter town, friends from the nearer holdfasts, and the escorts of their lordly guests. Ashara saw Ned talking with Howland Reed. She hadn't seen the crannogman after her marriage, she didn't even knew that he was here but she was happy to see him again. He had accompanied Ned at their secret marriage at Harrenhal, the only one to know about the secret other than her brother. Lord Reed was the first one to come see Andrew.

"He looks so much like Lord Eddard but he has your hair my lady," he said when she showed him her son.

After that one by one the Lords of the north came to see their new heir. Lord Greatjon Umber congratulated her for giving the north a strong heir. Lord Rickard Karstark told her to be proud for giving Andrew to Ned, Lord Roose Bolton studied her son for a while with his pale eyes before muttering a congratulation to Ned and her both. Lord Wyman laughed so loud and long saying that the Sword of the Morning was here to save them from the dark. Lord Cerwyn said that Andrew was beautiful. Lord Glover said that it was his pleasure to meet her son. Everyone came to see her son, even the smallfolk was much interested in seeing him.

Much later, after all the sweets had been served and washed down with gallons of summerwine, the food was cleared and the tables shoved back against the walls to make room for the dancing. The music grew wilder, the drummers joined in, and Hother Umber brought forth a huge curved warhorn banded in silver. When the singer reached the part in "The Night That Ended" where the Night's Watch rode forth to meet the Others in the Battle for the Dawn, he blew a blast that set all the dogs to barking.

Ashara was hot and tired of the feast. She was glad that she had her son in her arms since no one bothered to ask her for a dance. The others joined in the dance cheerfully, seizing the serving girls and pulling them to the dance floor for the dance. She stayed there long enough to be polite and then excused herself in order to put her son to sleep.

She made her way to her chambers without bothering any of the guards. Andrew had gone to sleep in her arms and she placed him in his cradle gently with the night's kiss. Her baby took to his cradle without recognising the difference.

Ashara took off her velvet gown and changed to her nightgown, a pale woolen one which covered from her neck to her toe. She was about to get into the bed when she heard a knock on the door. Ashara very well knew who it was even before she opened the door. No one came to her chambers so late other than her husband.

He was standing there before her, not as the brave Lord he had been in the feast but as the young boy who was so shy to even ask her for a dance.

"Get in here before you freeze in your place, my lord," Ashara said. Ned chuckled at that and entered her chambers.

"The Starks are made for the cold, my lady." He moved over to their son's cradle. She had kept the cradle near the bed in order to check on her son if he woke up at night. Ned sat on the bed and caressed Andrew's hair for a while. He never said anything all the while looking at their sleeping son.

"I know that you would be afraid," he said breaking his silence.

"For what?" Ashara asked moving near him.

"For what I'm about to do," Ned said, his eyes never leaving their son in his cradle.

"Ned, you're not doing anything bad," Ashara moved over to sit with him on the bed. Her husband turned to see her and Ashara placed her hand on his cheek and looked straight into his grey eyes, soft as fog. "It's them who started this, who forced your hand."

Ned took her hand in his and kissed her palm to her wrist. "If I don't do this we'll have to look over our shoulders for the hidden daggers all our life and our son would have to as well."

Ashara saw the pain in him. She leaned in to kiss him. "I understand, Ned," she said leaning her forehead against his. "I will stand with you, always."

Ned kissed her again, this time there was no gentleness in his kiss, only hunger and more tongue. His hand found her breast, pressing and kneading it in his hand. It was clear to her that he had missed her. He hadn't visited her bed for almost a year now and he never brought another woman to his bed. A man will have his needs, she could understand.

Ned laid her gently on the bed, kissing her lips, her face and her neck. He parted from her for a moment to remove her gown and he did it so fastly that he nearly tore the gown from her body. He was on her again within a moment moving her up in the bed.

Ned pushed her legs apart and kissed her hard until she moaned. Ashara gasped when Ned entered her and slid her arms around her husband's shoulders and let him have his way with her. Ned thrusted into her in a slow pace at first but his pace increased with his urgency. He kissed her ear, he kissed her jaw, her neck, her collar and her breasts until she could feel only his mouth and his body on her. He was over her, inside her, he was everywhere. He picked up the speed even more when he was nearing his end, ramming into her so hard that she couldn't help but moan so loud that she was certain that the guards at her door could hear her moans if they had stayed to guard at the doors. She was glad that they hadn't brought the guards from the feast. Ned continued to pump into her and bit her throat hard enough to leave a mark when he spilled his seed inside her womb. He stayed on her to catch his breath, his manhood still inside her, coated with her wetness where they were joined.

When he was done, Ned rolled off and laid beside her. Ashara could feel the warmth of his seed within her. Her breasts were sore and red, leaking with milk. She knew that Ned was taken by his longing heat for passion, else he wouldn't have taken her like this. That didn't mattered anyway, not after it had given comfort and warmth for both of them.

Ned pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. "I love you." Ashara laid her head on his chest and snuggled further to his warmth.

"I love you too," she said and rested her head on his chest again. Her husband stroked her hair, wet and wild from his love making. Ashara could hear the rythm of his heart, strong and steady the sound sweeter for her ears, sweeter than the music she'd heard in the feast. She never knew when sleep clouded her but she was sure she went to sleep hearing to Ned's heart beat.


	3. Chapter 3

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_**Ashara** _

The morning was chill and damp even for the north Ashara could say. A grey gloom accompanied the morning sun and made the world look so dull and grim. Winter is Coming. As Ashara drew her furs and velvet together against her the Stark words seemed more true that ever.

"We have made the figures from the lords' visit, my lady," Maester Walys said opening the books of account. "You'll want to know how much this feast has cost us."

Ashara looked at Andrew in his cradle and brushed his soft tuft of dark hairs in his small head. Andrew was too happy that day, her darling boy. He had awoken too early that day wanting for his mother and he did got her, her precious baby boy.

Andrew's cries had got her away from Ned's hands and warmth pretty too early that day. Usually she would spend the early mornings with her husband in their bed. Somedays Ned would make love to her when the first rays of dawn paints the sky in bruise purple but that day her son asked for her and Ashara could never deny her baby boy anything. She had awoken Ned when she had left his hands and Ned had chosen to begin his day as a father rather than the Lord of Winterfell. He kept her company while she nursed Andrew, cuddling her from behind, full of confidence unlike the youth who was so shy to even ask her for a dance at Harrenhal. They were having their own family time in the best way possible, she and Ned with Andrew but they had their duties for the day. Ned had to take his duties as the Lord of Winterfell and she had hers as the Lady of Winterfell. And looking after the accounts was her first duty for that day.

It was times like these she missed her old life without a doubt. They never got the chance to live their life as they had imagined, in their own castle away from all these games with a family of their own. Now both of them had a large duty looming over them. They were still young, Ned only nine and ten, already a father and she only seven and ten, already a mother, the Lord and Lady of the entire north.

She didn't need some books and figures to know how much the feast must have cost them. She very well knew the feast would have cost them a fortune from how lavish it was.

Ashara took the book from the Maester's hands and gave a look over the figures and numbers the Maester had drawn. "I hope this hadn't left our stores empty," she told him, her eyes glancing over the figures and calculations. "How do our stores stand for now?"

"My lady, the lords' party had healthy appetites. It hasn't left us all empty but we must replenish our stores before—"

She cut him off. "Winter, I know maester. Better prepare the small folk of Wintertown. We should make use of everything we could get. We must stand ready to back them up with anything, funds or grains," Ashara fondled Andrew under her chin with her finger. "Even if winter should come sooner than we think it to we should be prepared to face the worst."

"That will be done my lady," Maester Walys assured her. "I'll send men to Wintertown at once."

Ashara nodded absently. "Oh, yes. And maester," she looked up at the Maester. "How much does the glass gardens provide us?"

Maester Walys's forehead creased as he thought about her question. "The glass gardens could cover us for a few years in winter, my lady. But a long winter would pose a threat."

Ashara thought hard on it. The glass gardens were set upon the most moist grounds of Winterfell. It would be a great attribute if you could harvest even with the winter snows upon. They could try to extend it further, only they would need more glass. Myr provided the best glass and they came for the best price. Ashara looked down at her glass slippers. It was a Myrish craftsman who had made this slippers on her father's command. Ashara could remember the man. Maybe she could send a letter to him and hopefully reduce the price. She would want to talk to Ned about it.

Her eyes moved away from her son and found the maester. "Keep them filled all the time, maester," She commanded, gentle and regal at the same time.

Maester Walys nodded. "Yes, my lady." With that the maester bowed and left her chambers.

When the Maester left, Ashara looked at her son. Andrew's little hand curled around her finger as he slept. Ashara smiled at her son. He was too young to do anything other than sleeping and he was so beautiful while doing that.

Seeing her son sleeping with his baby hand around her finger Ashara couldn't bring herself to get away from him fearing that would wake her son.

She couldn't say how long she stayed that way but her midday meal was brought to her chambers. Bread and butter with honey and a rasher of bacon.

Ashara untangled Andrew's little fingers from around her finger slowly and carefully, making sure that he wasn't disturbed. When she was done she asked the servants to take back the plates to the kitchens.

Her son was still sleeping. She would want to wake him up anytime now. He would want to be awake when he meets his uncle. Ned's brother Benjen was coming from the wall to meet Andrew. It had been a difficult task for her to get Ned to send a raven for his brother in the Night's Watch, the same way she had send one for both her brothers. But in the end her husband agreed to invite his brother.

Ashara was happy that Andrew would meet at least one of his uncles. She very well knew that both her brothers wouldn't be able to come when she sent those ravens. Both Arthur and Aaron had sent their happiness and wishes for her in letters. But her goodbrother was near to them and Ashara had made sure that her son would at least meet someone from his family. And this will help Ned to mend his relationship with his brother as well.

She moved over to the window wondering when her good brother would arrive and how Ned would react to see his brother. She has given the necessary orders for receiving her good brother. He maybe a man of the Night's Watch but he is still a Stark.

The western sky had gone red when they informed about her goodbrother's arrival. Ashara took her son, wrapped in wools and furs. She was already dressed in a grey velvet gown with a majestic direwolf over the breast sewn with silver threads. Ned was already there in the yard flanked by Ser Rodrik and Martyn Cassel. Ashara moved over to him and stood in his right. Her husband gave a small smile at her and looked towards the gate.

She heard the hooves of the horse before she could see it. The horse followed the sound soon after, a young man riding it dressed all in black from head to heel.

Benjen Stark dismounted from his horse at a good distance away from them. She couldn't say whether it was usual or else if he was afraid of Ned. He is only a boy though. He was late that he missed the feast but he was here anyway.

Ashara looked at her husband's face. If Ned had felt anything he never showed it in his face. It was blank and solemn.

Benjen Stark made his way to them. He gave her a smile and another one to her son in her arms. Then he turned to face Ned. Ashara looked at the brothers watching each others' face. She was about to nudge Ned to speak something when he spoke.

"You look good," Ned said his face glum and sullen as ever.

Her goodbrother took a moment as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "So do you, Ned," Benjen Stark said to her husband.

Before they could make things more awkward with their silence Ashara moved forward to formally welcome her good brother back to Winterfell. "Welcome back to Winterfell," she said.

Her goodbrother was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. "Thank you my lady," Ben Stark said.

Ashara looked at Ned's face and then at her good brother's. "Lets go inside before Andrew catches a chill," she told them.

Dinner wasn't a rich affair compared to the feast thrown for Andrew's birth. But still it was lavish and the foods were fine and plenty. The Great Hall was silent throughout the dinner with the exception of men talking here and there. Ashara sat in the high table to Ned's right with her son. Her goodbrother chose to sit beside her rather than her husband's side.

"He looks like Ned," Benjen Stark said as he held her son in his arms.

"That he does," Ashara smiled at him. He goodbrother looked at Andrew closely and gave a smile at him. "Ned looks better than the last time I saw him."

Ashara turned to look at her husband and then nodded. He was definitely a lot better now she knew it. The last time Ned had seen his brother, it was when he came back to Winterfell with her and the bones of his father and brother.

They had a good talk throughout the feast. Ashara asked about his life at the Wall. She found him to be happy that he was selected as a Ranger, as the one who goes beyond the Wall to fight wildlings.

Benjen gave Andrew back to her when Ned got up to retire to their chambers.

"I've got your old chambers prepared for you," Ashara said as she got her son from her goodbrother. "Your brother was the one who showed me that," she added quietly.

Ned led her from the High Table. They were away from the High Table when Ned stopped to look back at his brother. "It is good to see you again Ben," Ned said his tight mouth relaxing into a smile.

Her goodbrother gave a wide smile to his brother before saying, "It is good to see you too Ned."

Ned nodded at his brother before turning to give her a smile. Ashara smiled back and Ned took her hand to lead her to their chambers.

Andrew was about to fall asleep when they reached their chambers. "Good night sweetling. Mama loves you," Ashara cooed over her son and kissed his cheek before placing him in his cradle.

She was about to disrobe her velvet gown when Ned hugged her from behind. He pushed her hair away from her neck, covering her bare neck with kisses and nips. Ned pulled her against him squeezing her waist, kissing and sucking the side of her neck and her ear.

Ned pressed more kisses to the side of her neck as he eased her grey velvet gown off her shoulders. "You're beautiful Ashara," he whispered as he nipped at her ear. Ashara found herself blushing red at that. It almost felt strange for her. She was wedded to him. She was bedded by him. She had spread her legs for him. He had taken her in every way a man could have a woman. She has shared his bed and borne him a son and still she found herself blushing madly as he undressed her as if she was still the maid Ned had deflowered at Harrenhal.

Her rich gown pooled at her feet as her husband undressed her but Ashara cared nothing. She wouldn't have cared even if Ned had torn it off of her.

Ned laid her on the bed all the way kissing her lips, her neck, her face and her shoulders. His lips trailed gradually down on her body. Ned kissed her breasts and sucked her pink nipples. Ashara moaned when he sucked her nipples, her breasts were so tender and sensitive from Andrew's birth. Ned sucked both her nipples and pressed kisses to her throat as she moaned, while kneading her breasts with his hand.

Her husband moved further down, kissing all the way as he went. He covered her flat stomach in kisses and moved further down. Ashara spread her legs knowing full and well where Ned was going to. He kissed the insides of her bare white thighs, first her right then her left. Ashara was already wet when Ned pressed his lips to her womanhood. He kissed her there, licked her and sucked her, using his mouth to make her moan. His face was between her thighs and his beard scratched against her thighs and her pink folds which only heightened her pleasures and made her moan loudly and wanton.

Ashara grabbed Ned's hair hard enough to leave his scalp aching when she broke apart, gushing her juices all over his face, soaking his beard and wetting the furs and bedsheets with her waters.

She was sopping wet when Ned entered her. Ned kissed her roughly as he pumped into her and Ashara tasted herself in his mouth. His lips parted from hers only to find themselves sucking at her nipples. Ned buried his face against her neck and moved inside of her with such urgency as he neared his end. He kissed her lips gently when he spent his seed inside her womb.

Ned stayed inside her for a moment. He kissed her and rolled off her to lay beside. Her mouth was red from kissing and Ned's seed was trickling down her thigh.

Ned laid his hand on her waist and Ashara turned to look him. "Thank you," he said pressing his lips against hers.

"For what?" Ashara asked him confused at his words.

"For everything," said Ned. "If it wasn't for you I don't know when I would have spoken to Ben."

Ashara smiled at him. She was happy to make him smile. She looked right in his grey eyes. Ned placed his palm against her cheek and kissed her. Ashara gave into the kiss and thought only of his lips, his hands and their baby.


	4. Chapter 4

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_**Eddard** _

The east sky was already bloodshot as Eddard Stark opened the windows of his chambers. A gust of cool air rushed past him inside the chambers. He could see men and women walking down in the grounds of Winterfell going on with their works. He should begin his duties soon as well, his duty as the Lord of Winterfell. Pushing away the thoughts, he looked into the vast stretch of the lands of the north.

He could remember the rides to the Wolfswood when he had been a small boy with Brandon and his Lord father. Brandon always used to push him for a race. His brother had always liked to push him into everything, Ned remembered the way his brother had pushed him to Ashara at Harrenhal. A sudden heaviness filled his heart at his old memories.

Staring into the glooming blankness, flashes from the past blurred the vision of the Lord of Winterfell. Spars with Brandon and Benjen, father's lessons, mother's smile and even Lyanna, wild and wilful. Never once he had thought that wilfulness would bring much destruction like this. His lord father had always asked Brandon to keep his wolf's blood in check if he didn't wanted to find himself trapped in some unwanted nets and Ned idly thought how his father's words came true in the end.

The air was thick with mist and fogs making it hard for the eyes to see. The sun was coming up from the east clearing the air free of dew and mist. Summer has come at last after the terrible false spring and all the terrible things which followed it. It amused him to think about how the North celebrated his son's birth, as if a long winter had ended and they had seen the summer at last. But somehow in the end a white raven had arrived the very next day after his son's birth indicating the start of summer. But Ned knew that it won't be summer forever, Winter is Coming.

"What are you thinking about, my love?" a sweet voice asked from behind. Ned turned to face his wife. Ashara was sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard. Her firm beautiful body was flushed red and her dark hair was wild from their recent love making. Her lower half was covered with the furs but she was exposed above the waist, all pale and pink, soft and supple. She was already awake, feeding their son by the time Ned woke up. Looking at her he had decided to begin his day as a husband rather than a lord.

Leaving the window open to let the chill morning air get inside, Ned moved back to the bed, back to his wife. "Nothing," he said sighing as he sat down on the bed near her. "Just the old memories." Andrew was sleeping peacefully in his cradle, dressed in his woolen sleepsuit.

"I've got a raven from Jon," he said caressing his son's sleeping face. "And one from Robert too."

Ashara leaned forward at once. "And?" She pulled the furs up to her chin. She was shivering. Ned couldn't say whether it was because of the cold or else of what he said.

"Its nothing serious," he looked at her face. "Just wishing us on Andrew's birth."

His wife relaxed a bit at that. "Ned this won't be so easy hereafter," she took his hands in hers. "Rhaegar must have come to know about it by now even if he hadn't intercepted Arthur's letters first. Varys, Ned. He has this way of learning things that no one could possibly know."

"He has spies, Ash. He is the Master of Spies after all," Ned said, dismissively.

Ashara moved closer to him and gripped his hands tighter. The furs slipped from her body leaving her exposed to the cold but she didn't cared. "You don't understand Ned," The fear was plain on Ashara's face. "You don't know what happens in that cursed place. Varys... He was the main reason for Aerys' paranoia. He whispers things, Ned. Things what he wants you to hear. It is only a matter of time before he spits venom in Rhaegar's ears, before... before history repeats itself."

He felt Ashara tremble in his arms. He had never seen her afraid not even when the raging storms and high waves erupted all around their little boat in the Bite. But now she was visibly afraid. Ned embraced her. "It's alright Ash, if it comes to war we will be ready. Rhaegar would not dare to stand up against the north. If he did even try to touch us he will find himself to face Robert and Jon. Lord Hoster is bound to us as well. He will find four of the Seven Kingdoms standing up against him."

Ashara nodded against his chest and lifted her face. Ned kissed her. Their kiss was broken by Andrew's fussing in his cradle. Ashara moved from his hands to the cradle. She slipped over her night gown and picked up Andrew from his cradle.

Ned pulled on the breeches he had worn last night before going to bed and laced up his tunic.

"Look who's awake," Ashara cooed over their son in her arms and the sight brought a smile to his lips. Andrew reached for Ashara with his baby hands smiling widely.

"Will you hold him?" asked Ashara smiling sweetly. It felt good to see her smile. He nodded and got the babe in his hands. Grey eyes stared up at him and it filled him with joy like the same way it had been when he had held his son for the first time. Andrew waved his tiny hand at him making a quiet sound.

"I cannot go present myself like this," Ashara sat on the chair and took a comb from her table.

Ned sat on the bed as Ashara started to brush her dark hair free of tangles. Ned pushed his hand gently through the dark tuft of his son's hair so much like his mother's which he loved to stroke or hold.

"Ned?" Ashara called for him as she brushed a lock of dark hair free from a knot.

"Mm," he replied and then returned his gaze to his son.

"How much strength do we have at sea?" Ashara turned her head to look at him. Ned paused for a moment and thought about the question.

"We don't really," he admitted. "We have had no strength at sea for hundreds of years, since Brandon the Burner put the torch to his father's ships."

Ashara was surprised to hear that. She stood up from her chair and joined him in the bed. "And why did no one tried to restore it?"

Ned smiled at that not knowing the answer truly.

"Anyway I don't know much about that but my father always used to say that ships are not only for the battles it is also used to strengthen our own trades," Ashara said. "If we had our own fleet we can have a solid defence at sea as well as our own trade."

Eddard considered that for a moment. Ashara was right about the fleet. They were the most vulnerable at sea with no fleet and surrounded by seas on two sides. They could even make a good trading friendship with the other regions of the Seven Kingdoms and outside the Seven Kingdoms. It made sense to build up a fleet and it would take a good deal of gold.

"You're right, my lady," Ned approved. "We might need our own fleet. I will send a raven to Wyman Manderly. I've already asked him to strengthen and repair all his defenses at White Harbor, and to see that they are well manned. Let him take up this duty as well. We will provide him the necessary gold. I'll send a raven to Lord Greatjon Umber as well. The Umbers have forests of tall pine and old oak. Lord Manderly has shipwrights and sailors in plenty. Together they ought to be able to float enough longships to guard both our coasts."

Ashara nodded and got Andrew from his hands. "And I need to go see Wintertown today," Ashara said rocking Andrew in her arms, humming a tune. She looked at him and continued, "I have asked them to increase their harvest in order to prepare our stores for winter."

Ned nodded. They need to stay prepared for winter and all the other worst things. The pale fingers of the light passed through the windows and filled the chambers. It was time to take up his duties as the Lord of Winterfell, he knew. He asked the servants to bring in the water for his bath. Ashara left with Andrew to her chambers for her bath.

When he came back fresh from his bath he opened his wardrobe and took a light linen undertunic. He wore a grey doublet with a direwolf sigil and black breeches. Ned pulled on his leather boots and draped a heavy fur cloak around his shoulders and clasped it with a silver pin fashioned in the form of a snarling direwolf's head.

He joined with Ashara on his way to the Great Hall to break his fast. His wife had long given her liking for silks after she came to Winterfell. She had worn a green velvet gown and had a amethyst pin fashioned in the shape of a star in her hair. Their son was nestled up in Ashara's arms dressed in a grey woolen suit with long sleeves and legs and bundled up in furs.

They broke their fast in the Great Hall with the others. The dined on cheese, capons and brown oatbread. Winterfell was rather amusive that day. Everyone was in a good mood and the Great Hall was filled with talks and laughs as if it was a feast. The sight made him realise how hopeful they had grown after the birth of his son. When he had come back from the south with the bones of his father and brother Winterfell had grown so silent as the crypts where his father and brother were laid to rest. To see it come back to life, Eddard Stark was more hopeful than he had been in a great while. Ashara kept herself occupied with her hand maiden throughout the meal and Ned enquired Ser Rodrik about the training of their new recruits.

"They are pretty back in their training my lord," Ser Rodrik pulled at his whiskers. "But given some time they could get better."

Ned nodded at that. He had thought to strengthen Moat Cailin and they needed men to do that. The castle was abandoned for some years now and it stood as a ruin now. Only three of the original twenty towers stood now. He had thought to fortify Moat Cailin with three separate garrisons for the three towers which includes a fair number of archers to guard the towers and swordsmen to hold the keep. He had asked Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover each to raise a hundred archers as well, to man the castle when the time comes. He had wanted the recruits to take up their posts in Moat Cailin once they are ready.

"Good," Ned said taking a bite from his oatbread. Hullen informed him about the death of a mare in the stables and Ned asked him to replace it with a suitable one.

When Ned finished his meal he left for his solar after placing a kiss in Ashara's cheek. Ned sat in the chair behind his desk, filled with papers and letters. He took a fresh piece of paper and and dipped his quill in the inkpot. He wrote two letters. One for Lord Wyman Manderly and one for Lord Greatjon Umber.

When he was done, he signed the letters Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, blotted the paper, folded it twice, and melted the sealing wax over the candle flame.

He called in Desmond and asked him to bring Maester Walys. Desmond returned with Maester Walys as he was pressing the direwolf seal down into the soft white wax. Ned thanked Desmond and sent him away.

Maester Walys had an uncertain look on his face which troubled Ned as soon as he saw him. He pressed his seal on the second letter and waited for the hot wax to soften.

"Send these letters to Lords Manderly and Umber, Maester Walys." He placed the letter to Wyman Manderly in the maester's right hand and the letter to the Greatjon in his left. When he looked at the Maester again he could see that something was worrying the man.

"That will be done, my lord," Maester Walys placed the letters back on the table separately and took another letter from his sleeves. "But my lord, there is something you need to see first," Maester Walys extended the letter to him.

Ned got the letter in his hand. A roll of crisp white parchment sealed with the sigil of seven swords surrounding a crown pressed upon white wax.


	5. Chapter 5

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_**Ashara** _

Arthur is coming. Her brother is coming to Winterfell. Ashara wasn't sure whether she should be happy about the letter or afraid of it. By now word of Andrew's birth would have known all throughout the Seven Kingdoms and Ashara knew that there were people who will not be so happy to hear it. There were people who would see her baby boy only as a threat and not as the sweet little babe he was. Her hands tightened around her son's baby body on their own showing her mother's desire to protect her little boy from anything.

"Has there been anything else? A letter or threat," Ashara asked Ned.

Ned shook his head.

"There's been nothing other than the letter, my lady," Maester Walys said.

Ashara sighed, suddenly growing calm. If her brother had heard something worrying he would definitely told her about it. She was glad that there was nothing worrying in his letter. He had just mentioned that he will be coming to the north, all alone. She was glad that he was coming alone. If the Targaryens even tried to enter the north it would end up in bloodshed.

"That is good," Ser Rodrik said. "It is Lady Stark's own brother who is coming north. Surely we won't have to worry over Ser Arthur's arrival."

Ashara looked at the knight. Wouldn't that be true? Ashara thought. She wasn't afraid about her brother's arrival. To be true, she was happy, so happy that Arthur was coming. When she sent the ravens to King's Landing and Starfall she had expected that only a raven would return bearing her brothers' congratulations. Never once had she thought that they would come. There was no chance for that to happen she knew, Arthur was a Kingsguard and Aaron has to take care of Starfall and their little sister as well. But now Arthur himself was coming. Ashara wasn't an idiot. She very well knew that a kingsguard could leave his king only with the word of his king. That thing still worried her. Her brother never mentioned any words that might worry her but what if he had something which he thought as a too dangerous message to confine it in a letter and trusting it to a raven. Why would Rhaegar send her brother to the north? The thought almost filled her with dread. The Targaryens would never dare to come all this way up north but Rhaegar has other Kingsguards and other loyalists. Still her brother was the one coming north.

"My worries are not about my brother, Ser Rodrik," Ashara said to the master at arms. "We have much bigger problems in King's Landing. Last time a Targaryen grew unnerved at his people that they were trying to dispose him, he clawed at the kingdom, pouring all his rage and fire upon innocent people who did nothing wrong. Who can say that won't happen again?" Her eyes looked down at her son sleeping peacefully in her arms.

"Maybe your brother could answer our questions," Ned said placing his hand on her arm.

Ashara nodded. She believed that her brother will have the answers. But it was the answers she dreaded. She never thought Rhaegar to be his father. In her time at the court the prince was quite, charming and good so much like his mother, the Queen Rhaella and unlike his father. But the fact that he pined after another man's betrothed said quite the opposite. It wasn't a secret in the Red Keep of Aerys Targayen's lusting for Joanna Lannister. Ashara had heard the talks of the Mad King's desire for his hand Tywin Lannister's lady love, the lady Joanna Lannister. They said that was time when Aerys Targaryen showed the first sign of his madness. Maybe that was the truth with Rhaegar as well. Maybe Rhaegar Targaryen is like his father as well. His first sign might be the thing with Lyanna Stark just like his father's had been the thing with Joanna Lannister. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Her thoughts seemingly went back to the Princess Elia, beautiful, good and gentle. She was not so close with the Princess much due to their difference in age but the short encounters they'd had proclaimed her as a good and kind but frail woman. She had never thought that someone would hurt a woman like Princess Elia let alone a man like Rhaegar Targaryen would do it. But in the end the world played a cruel joke on her girlish fantasies when Prince Rhaegar himself broke the Princess' and their children's life beyond repair.

"Did you heard anything from Lord Arryn or Lord Robert?" Ashara asked her husband.

Ned glanced helplessly around the bedchamber. Ashara's heart went out to him, she wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and keep him safe in them just like she had her son. "No," he said looking at everyone in the room.

"That's good," Ashara sighed in relief. "Anyway Arthur will have answers for all our questions. We will hear what is happening in King's Landing from him."

"In the meantime," Ned looked at the faces of the men in the room. "Ser Rodrik make sure that our defences stand strong," he said to Ser Rodrik.

Ser Rodrik bowed his head at once. "That will be done, my lord."

Ned turned to Maester Walys. "Maester Walys, send a raven to Lord Howland Reed. Tell him he is to keep a continuous watch in the neck."

The Maester tugged at his chain collar and nodded.

"So if that is all we can decide our plans after my lady talks with her brother," Ned told them. Ser Rodrik and Maester Walys nodded and got up to leave the room.

"So you don't think that your brother is just coming to see you and our son," Ned asked when they were alone in their chambers.

"I know Arthur is coming here just to see us Ned," Ashara looked at him.

"So why are you so worried then?" He placed a concerning hand at her shoulder.

Ashara tilted her head and kissed his hand at her shoulder. "Its nothing Ned," she shook her head rubbing her cheek against the back of his hand. "Its just... maybe I've been in that wretched place for a long time."

Ashara gently rocked her son in her arms. Seeing her little boy in her arms made her forget her worries from the south. Ashara remembered Old Nan's words, "He is a special boy, my lady and he needs a special mother. So lessen your worries." She shouldn't worry about things. She had wanted Arthur to see her son and he was coming to see him now. She couldn't wait to see Arthur. Her brother was coming to see her son just like she had wished him to. Nothing bad or nothing to worry her. It was the best thing that she had ever felt after her son's birth. She looked down at Andrew sleeping in her arms, nestling peacefully against her breast. Looking at her son sleeping peacefully safe in her arms Ashara wished that Andrew would stay little like this forever safe in her arms.

Ned put his hands around her from behind and kissed her cheek, pressing his lips all the way from the corner of her mouth to her ear. Ashara turned her head to meet his lips and Ned captured her mouth with his. He kissed her hard and sweet at the same time. "Come to bed," Ned nipped at her neck.

All her morning's tiredness seemed to vanish at Ned's tenderness and love for her. She got up from her chair and moved over to Andrew's cradle. "Good night sweetling," she whispered and pressed her lips so lightly at his forehead. Ashara placed him gently on the furs of his cradle and watched as her son took to the cradle.

Ned put his hand around her waist as he joined her. They stood there for some time, of how much Ashara wasn't sure. She stood with her husband looking at their son until Ned's grip on the curve of her waist tightened and his hand squeezed her waist, pulling her to him.

His hands deftly worked the laces of her gown all the while his lips kept hers occupied. Occasionaly he took his lips away from hers only to press it against her brow or her neck or her cheek.

When her gown pooled around her feet Ned led her to their bed. Ashara spread her legs for her husband when he climbed atop her. She was dripping wet with pleasure when he entered her. He sucked her nipples till she cried out half in pain and half in pleasure. She could tell his need for her with the way he was thrusting inside her, deep and hard and frantic. She moaned loudly tilting her head back exposing the pale skin of her neck and Ned bit at her neck hard in the moment of his pleasure, marking her as he filled her with his hot seed.

Ned rolled off her and Ashara rested her head on his chest. Ned had a arm around her shoulder and pressed a kiss at her forehead. "How was your day at Winter Town?"

Ashara had completely forgotten about the Winter Town when Ned had called her. And when she read Arthur's letter she changed her plans so much excited at her brother's travel. "I had to change my plans when you called for me today," Ashara informed him. "I'll go meet them tomorrow."

Ned nodded and brushed a strand of her hair from her forehead. "So how will your brother make his journey north?"

Ashara idly traced her fingers on Ned's chest in some undefined pattern. "I don't know," she admitted. "Arthur will always prefer his horse over a ship but he'll try to get this done quickly. I think he'll travel by sea."

Ned nodded at her.

"Did Lord Manderly had any news from Myr?" Ashara lifted her head from Ned's chest to face him. "About the glass trade?" She had sent a guardsman from Winterfell with her letter to Myr in Lord Manderly's ship to bring panes of glass to Winterfell. She had hoped that this thing would work. Winter is Coming and they should be ready and prepared when it is upon them. And a few panes of glass may provide themselves very helpful when the snows fall.

"No," Ned's face fell suddenly in tiredness. The day had took much of him, Ashara knew. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Ned took to sleep before her and Ashara looked how peaceful he was in his sleep. His long hardened face growing soft and all the worries faded away from it. She remembered the day she shared her bed with him for the first time at Harrenhal. His face had been so much like this, calm and undisturbed. Why couldn't we stay like this forever?

She must have slept, though she never remembered closing her eyes. Ashara was dreaming of summer and Starfall when she woke up to the crying of her son. She yawned as she entangled herself from Ned's arms around her. Ned stirred in his sleep when she left his arms. She kissed his cheek and moved over to her son crying in his cradle. Ashara took Andrew in her arms and rocked him in the way he liked the most. He became quiet once she gave her nipple to his mouth. Her son had gone to sleep so early that she thought him to wake up early. Ashara padded across the bedchamber, and threw the shutters open. The moon was almost full, the night so clear that she could see the high walls of Winterfell, the battlements crowned with snow. Cold and quiet and dark, but beautiful in the moonlight. It almost made a pleasant sight as Starfall in a starry night lit with moonlight. The white marble walls of Starfall would shine so bright in the moonlight as if the castle itself was a star. The tall towers glimmering pale as Dawn, standing as if they were some kind of beacon. Even beyond the walls of Starfall the Torentine rushed nearby reflecting the moonlight as if it was running molten silver. Beyond Winterfell there were trees, so many trees. Winterfell was surrounded by Wolfswood. And Ashara always thought the forest was named perfectly. Most nights you could hear the wolves, calling to each other through the dark.

Dawn was still hours away and it was close to the hour of wolf. Maybe she would hear a howl or two even now too, but the world stayed quiet. There were only the whisperings of the trees around the castle. Andrew let her nipple from his mouth when he had enough of her milk. Ashara hummed as she rocked him back to sleep. When his eyes drooped with sleep, she closed the windows and turned away from the cold blankness to her bed.

Ned was asleep still, his hands which had been around her a moment before now empty in the bed. She placed Andrew back in his cradle and climbed onto her bed. She nestled against Ned just like Andrew would nestle against her arms and breasts. His hands held her as she settled in them even without him waking up from his sleep. She tried to go back to sleep but it wasn't so easy. Sleep wouldn't come even as she tried. If Andrew hadn't gone to sleep she could have spend her time with. Her son always made it so easy for her to smile and forget her troubles. It was always hard for her to keep note of the time everytime she had Andrew in her arms. But her baby had gone to sleep and Ashara didn't want to wake him up just because she couldn't sleep. She had a mind to wake Ned up and make him take her again. It would be sweet to lose herself in his arms. But looking at him sleeping peacefully much like her son she brushed the thought away from her mind.

The candles were all gone, reduced to a pool of melted wax. Darkness swallowed the feather bed and its two occupants, and filled every corner of the chamber. Ashara wrapped her arms around her husband and pressed herself against his chest. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. She closed her eyes thinking of him, and she never remembered another thing.

The pale pink light of dawn was filling up their chambers when Ned woke her up. From the way he was dressed she could say that he was going somewhere. He was clad in a white woolen doublet and grey breeches. A heavy fur cloak was draped on his shoulders and pinned with the silver direwolf brooch. "I'll be away for a while, my lady. I've informed Maester Walys about my tidings. He'll come to you if he is in need of anything. Act in my stead until I return, my love." he pressed a kiss on her forehead and left the room, his cloak swirling behind him.

Ashara moved from her bed and took her green velvet gown from the floor, the one she had worn for the whole day before she had gone to bed. She slipped on the fine rich gown too lazy even to cross the room for the robe. She would need a bath anyway and the gown was still fresh. Andrew was awake in his cradle eyes wondering the granite ceiling pressing from above. His face lit up when he saw her. He gurgled happily and reached for her with his tiny arms. The sight chased away her sleepiness and delighted her heavily. Her heart overwhelmed with love and joy so much that it almost ached.

"Good morning sweetling," she took him in his arms and cooed at him. Andrew waved his baby arms at her face. His hand caught a lock of her hair and he held onto it. Andrew had always liked her hair that whenever she had him at her arms he would go to sleep with a lock of her hair in his little hands more often than not. So much like his father, Ashara thought. Ned loved her hair, dark and long and wavy, he had always liked to stroke it or to hold it.

"Did you sleep well?"

A little hic was her son's answer throwing his free arm at her. Ashara smiled at that. It always amused her that how he made things easy for her, bringing love and joy, her little boy, making her smile and happy even when she was troubled or worried. Andrew made her feel happy and special like no one has ever done even as a infant at her breast. Soon he would grow and call her 'Mama'. Her mother had always told her that it was the best feeling a woman could ever have and Ashara couldn't wait to hear that.

Ashara sat amongst the rumpled bedclothes with her son in her arms, so occupied with his little face and smiles that she did not hear when Lynora came creeping into the bedchamber. "My lady, do you want to break your fast here?"

Ashara bend her head to brush the tip of her nose with her son's. Andrew giggled at that and touched her face with his baby arms. She looked up at her hand maiden and smiled. "No," she told her. "I will break my fast in the Great Hall with the others. Prepare my bath."

The northerners loved her with all their heart, she knew that. Wherever she went the people would always greet her with wide smiles. Her husband's bannermen loved her and respected her as much as they did for Ned. From the moment she stepped in the north with her husband, the people had loved them so much that Ashara had never thought of such love and respect to exist in this world, certainly not in the nest of adders they called as King's Landing. The northerners saw Ned and her as their King and Queen and respected them as such. She knew that the Starks were well loved and respected by their people but she had never thought it like such. Once the curve in her belly was visible through her gowns when she had Andrew in her womb the entire household of Winterfell had taken to care for her as if she was made of glass like her slippers. And now she wouldn't present herself as a pretty southron maid who needs her husband for everything. She would sit and dine with her people just like she would do with Ned everyday. She was a Stark of Winterfell, a Dayne of Starfall. She was descended from Gods. Ned had left her to act in his stead as the Stark in Winterfell and she would act as a Stark. Her people thought her as their queen and Ashara will be the gracious queen as they saw her.

Lynora bowed and left the chambers to ready her bath. Ashara spent the time with her son, pressing kisses to his tiny face and little hands and baby feet, letting his small fingers to wind up in her locks. When Andrew tried to put her hair in his mouth, Ashara pulled it away from his tiny mouth and poked his nose with her finger making him giggle, throwing his arms up and kicking his legs in the air.

"Do you like it?" She smiled and poked at his nose again. Andrew made a low noise from his throat and reached for her finger. Ashara lowered her hand for him and her little boy held onto her finger with a soft grip.

She was playing with Andrew when Lynora came back. "My lady, your bath is ready."

"In a moment Lynora," Ashara told her handmaiden and turned to her son. "Mama will come back soon baby." She kissed Andrew's cheek and when he grabbed for her face Ashara took his tiny arms in her hands and placed them back with a kiss. Andrew turned his head to look for her when she moved away from his cradle. It pained her to leave him even for her bath, she wanted nothing more than to rush back to him and pick him up in her arms to press kisses all over his beautiful face. But unlike the mother of Andrew Stark, the Lady of Winterfell had a duty laid out before her.

She followed Lynora to her bath. Her handmaiden disrobed her velvet gown from her body. Ashara got into the tub. The water was steaming and hot. The warmth reminded her of Starfall, of the days with Arthur, riding and running under the Dornish sun until they would end up flushed red in the heat.

"Add the lavender scent today," Ashara said to her handmaiden and Lynora added the fragrant oil from a vial to the steaming water in the tub.

Lynora washed her hair and scrubbed off any tangles. When they had finished Lynora wrapped her in a towel of soft wool and wiped her dry. When the girl brushed the woolen towel against her neck she blushed brightly as a maid. Ashara looked at her vaguely, unclear at the reason for her blush. Lynora blushed deeper and pressed her lips together and continued with her work.

"What?" Ashara asked calmly.

"My lady?" Lynora raised her eyebrows at her.

"Why are you blushing and smiling at me?" Ashara asked uncertainly.

Lynora dropped her gaze to the floor again and pointed to the looking glass. Ashara examined her face at the glass. There was nothing wrong with it. Her cheeks were rosy but there was nothing wrong with it. Her cheeks were always colored even more so when she was in the open cold. She tilted her head back to look at her neck and she saw it. There to the side of her throat an inch below was a deep red bruise. A mark which Ned must have left on her when he bit her neck the last night. No wonder why Lynora was so shy to look at her.

The memory made her blush red and it crept its way down to her chest. Lynora chuckled at her from behind. Ashara was red as a beet when she managed to look her handmaiden in the eye.

"What?" She said smiling. "You will understand it once you get married."

They both laughed at that. Lynora proved to be a good company, much better than the ones she'd had at the Red Keep. The girl was about her same age and it had helped them to become fast friends.

"I am going to Winter Town today," Ashara said as Lynora dressed her in her silken smallclothes. "You should come with me. It will be good for you to meet your family."

"I don't have a family, my lady," her handmaiden said as she took her purple silk velvet gown in her hand. "I was working in an alehouse before Lord Eddard brought me to be your handmaiden."

It hurt her to hear her say that she didn't have a family. But Lynora didn't seem to be hurt at that. She was a good woman and she never seemed to worry over anything, a trait which the girl had acquired even before Ashara had met her.

"But you can see your past home and life," Ashara pressed as she slid her arms through the long soft velvet sleeves of her gown.

Lynora nodded her head as she ran her hands through her sides, smoothing the soft fabric over her womanly curves. "I'll accompany you, my lady," she said as she laced her gown in her back.

When she was dressed Ashara went back to her chambers for her son. He was waiting for her quietly in his cradle. Andrew was a quiet baby. He never cried or screamed for her attention when she has to leave him. He is the best baby a mother could ask for and he is hers.

Ashara dressed him in his woolen suit and wrapped a layer of fur to keep the cold away. When she was done Ashara made her way to the Great Hall with Andrew in her arms. People were already gathered in Winterfell's Great Hall to break their fast. They bowed their head and smiled at her as she passed. Ashara accepted all their greetings with a nod and smile of her own.

Ashara sat in her husband's stone throne, the High seat of the Starks. She broke her fast with bread and bacon, with some butter to sweeten it and a cup of honeyed milk to warm her insides. The men sat talking down in the tables more than they ate the food before them. Ashara watched her people as she took a bite from her bread. Many of the common faces she used to see were no where to be found. Martyn Cassel, Hullen, the Master of Horse, Tomard, Desmond, Alyn, Porther all must have gone with her lord husband. Ser Rodrik was there joking and laughing with his nephew Jory.

"My lady," Maester Walys called her from her left.

Ashara turned her head to look at the Maester.

"We have some visitors," the Maester told her. "You might want to hold court."

"Later Maester," Ashara said sipping her honeyed wine. "They'll be hungry. Ask them to join us in our dining."

"At once, my lady," Maester Walys bowed and left with some books and scrolls in his hands. She might want to hold court soon. With Ned gone all the governance of the castle had fallen on her shoulders. But Ashara didn't want to let them stay hungry. They were her people and they had come to Winterfell with certain hopes and she wouldn't let her people to stay with an empty stomach in her castle.

Ashara left to her chambers when she was enough with her food. The day was going to be long. She was expected to hear her people in her husband's stead and she needed to go visit the smallfolk of Winter Town. She would want to feed her son. It might be too long for her to return to her son. When she fumbled with the laces at her back Ashara cursed herself for not wearing a gown with laces in the front. Ashara had never liked the dresses of that kind. She preferred her flowing gowns of silks and velvet over the gowns with too much layers. But those would have been easy for her feed her son. After a few more stretchs of her hand she reached the laces. Ashara loosened her gown and exposed her breast for her son. Andrew latched on to her breast and took her nipple in his mouth as easily as he always did.

Ashara hummed a tune as she nursed her son. She traced his tiny face lightly with her finger but Andrew was busy with her breast that he didn't mind her. When her son finished his feeding Ashara patted his back lightly and rocked him gently to help him keep the milk down. She fixed her gown and asked the guard at her door to bring her Lynora. She sent another guard for Old Nan.

Lynora arrived when Ashara was rocking Andrew to sleep. Her handmaiden tightened the laces of her gown and made her presentable. Her guard brought her Old Nan when she was ready to leave for the Great Hall to hold court.

Ashara helped Old Nan to a chair near Andrew's cradle. Someone would want to take care of Andrew when she was running the castle and Ashara knew that Old Nan would be better than anyone else.

"Go along, Lady Stark," Old Nan said as she took her needles and started knitting. "I will take care of your little lord."

Ashara nodded at the old woman and left her chambers for the Great Hall with Lynora.

"Did you see the petitioners?" Ashara asked Lynora as they descended the winding stair.

"I didn't my lady," Lynora confessed. "But I heard the maids talk something about some disputes."

Disputes... That wasn't good. The sounds of sword and shield and horse already rang through the yard. Ashara passed through the yard, looking at Ser Rodrik training the new recruits. Jory Cassel was with them. Most of the recruits were of her age, seventeen maybe eighteen. The Master at arms bowed his head and muttered 'my lady' when he saw her. Ashara smiled at the knight showing her acceptance. The recruits stopped their spar for a moment using the break when Ser Rodrik turned to greet her. But they took up their wooden swords once Ser Rodrik turned to watch them. The yard came alive again with the clack of wood on wood.

The people stopped to greet her with a smile and bowed their heads as she passed. Ashara nodded in acceptance and greeted them back with a smile. When she reached the Great Hall the guards at the door of the Great Hall opened the wide doors of oak and iron.

The petitioners clustered near the dais. They knelt when Ashara walked past them. She sat in her husband's high seat. Maester Walys sat on her right hand, armed with quills and inkpots and a sheaf of blank parchment to write down all that transpired and Vayon Poole sat to her left. This was the first time she was holding court, Ned had believed in her and she would make him proud.

She rested her hands on the carved direwolf heads at the arms of the high seat. "Rise," Ashara commanded the petitioners. "All of you, up."

The petitioners got up to their feet. One by one Ashara called them forward and heard them out. Most of them were petty disputes of land and coins. An old man asked their help to rebuild his broken mill which was his only livelihood. Ashara assigned two guards from Winterfell to help the old man in reforming his mill and house. The old man thanked her with a smile which relaxed his worried face that from the look of it Ashara was sure that it must've been his first smile after a long time. The rest of the petitions seemed to go too fast and by the time Ashara settled all their complaints it was almost midday.

"Maester Walys," Ashara called the maester when he rolled up the scrolls. "If that is all we shall warp it up for today."

"As you say, my lady," The maester smiled at her.

Ashara stood up from her seat. The people in the room followed her. Ashara ordered for the midday meal to be brought. The Great Hall was soon filled with the household of Winterfell and Ashara took her meal with them.

The day was far from over and so was her duties. She wanted to go to Winter Town. Clearing the thoughts away Ashara made her way to her chambers to spend the short free time with her son.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Lyanna** _

She hated King's Landing, she hated the Red Keep, she hated the heat and she hated the people. If there was one thing that Lyanna had come to find out about the south is that she hated it and in turn the south hated her. A year and a half have already passed since she had become queen and throughout the time she has never once felt as the queen Rhaegar claimed her to be. Even in the Red Keep there's still the talks of Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys and little Aegon. The men mock her of her promiscuity, of how she traded her maidenhead for a crown, the maids in their hushed talks calls her a whore who usurped Princess Elia. She hears them all, the talks about her and Lyanna has very little concern about what they say about her. And the worst of all even her son was not safe from their talks. Whispers of bastard and usurper swirled around the air almost everytime which made her blood boil. They were very well welcome to hate her all they want but she would not stand aside and hear them use vile names at her little son. Aegon is already one and is growing fast. He doesn't deserve to be called a bastard or a usurper. 

Ever since she came to the south all she could see of it as boring. Rhaegar promised her freedom but all she has experienced was sitting in some Tower and then a castle full of people who hate her. When Lyanna had accepted the throne she had thought to be a fine queen as she had promised to Rhaegar but despite the fact that she was called a queen none respected her as such. There were smiles in front of her and scowls behind her back. And soon enough she found that not every crown could make a queen. 

She was tired of the south. She missed her family, the family that died because of her actions. She could almost hear Brandon's wild laughter and see her father's gruff smile but the images have almost faded from her minds now. And Ned, sweet and honorable Ned just left her without even saying goodbye. She had never wanted any of this to happen no more than she wanted all those deaths to happen.

It feels strange to walk the halls where her father and brother died in the hands of her good father. The thought of her child was a bed of thorns. To know that both his father's and mother's family hated each other it would be hard on him. Lyanna can bear anything if that meant good for her son. She would sort out her judgements, sell out her love, admit her mistakes and accept the consequences with open arms if it meant that none of her judgements and actions would mar her children. No children should pay for their parents' crimes and to call Aegon a bastard and usurper for her mistakes, she would not let anyone get away with it. 

She had nothing to do in the Red Keep other than to simply sit in her rooms and look at some old hag's face. Rhaegar never even allowed her to go ride her horse like she wanted. It's too dangerous he'd said when she had asked him for it. She had pressed about it by asking for some guards and even then her royal husband wouldn't budge. He wouldn't risk that even with the kingsguard all around her. That wouldn't have made it better anyway. Though the people were at least soft with the fact that they hated her, the kingsguard showed their distaste for her openly. None even managed to talk to her. Not even Ser Arthur Dayne, her goodsister's brother and the one who helped her to get away with Rhaegar. Ser Gerald Hightower did speak to her but nothing more than some gruff Your Grace. Ser Oswell Whent never even managed to meet her eyes. Ser Barristan always had a hint of disapproval in his eyes, though there had been some kind smiles for her from him. Ser Jaime and Ser Darry were not so thrilled to be in her company as well. Though none of them was as hard as Ser Lewyn. The Dornishman glares her openly and where there were smiles in his lips while talking with others immediately falters into a scowl as soon as he sees her. There was bitterness in his eyes and tightness of his lips for her. He lost his niece, Lyanna knew. She could understand. He had lost his family like me and he blames me for it just like Ned. 

Ned... Her thoughts went back to the family she had left. Only Ned and Ben remained of her once big family and even Ned was not ready to talk to her. She even sent a raven to Ben once but none returned from Castle Black. She never knew if the raven ever reached the Wall or it's just that Ben was not ready to talk to her as well. Does he condemn me for all that's happened as well? She dreaded the answer but somewhere deep in her heart some voice said that already she knows the answer for that. And Lyanna never liked that answer. 

Rhaegar even told her about Ned's son, his firstborn, her nephew. He told her of his birth and how the north had cut off its connection from the south but for the Stormlands and the Vale. When he told her that he was going to send Ser Arthur Dayne to the Wall to meet with his Great-great-great maester uncle Lyanna asked for his permission to accompany Ser Arthur to the north as well. She missed the north, she missed Winterfell and maybe she could just bring back Ned into speaking terms with her. And Rhaegar even denied her that saying that it was too dangerous to enter the north particularly now. An arrow from the neck could take your life just as easily as a sword could do, he'd said. 

Lyanna was too tired of these dangers he was talking about. She was tired of playing the queen, she was tired of the southron games. All she wanted was a life in her way and fate has a cruel way of playing japes with her and this was the life which was thrust to her and whether she likes it or not she knows that she should face her consequences.


	7. Chapter 7

_**** _

_**** _

_**Eddard** _

The reports came in the hour before the dawn, when the world was still and grey.

Alyn woke him from his dreams, knocking on his door roughly to announce that Maester Walys was begging urgent audience. And Ned had stumbled away from the warmth of his wife into the predawn chill, groggy from sleep, to hear the maester tell about the wildlings caught in the south of the Wall.

Wildlings caught on this side of the Wall was always a serious issue. There was nothing he could do but to rub the sleep from his eyes and go do his duty. And so he did, leaving Winterfell in the hands of his wife and riding forth to deliver the justice of the Starks to those who disturbed the peace of his people.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that lingered at the skin. They set forth at daybreak to deliver the justice, twenty in all, and Ned had set the pace, slow but steady. This was the first time he would serve justice as Lord Stark and Ned remembered his father's words. "Our way is the Old Way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

The Wildlings had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills, stealing from the smallfolk and threatening them to keep silence. It almost made Ned curious. The wildlings were men from the north of the Wall. They came over the Wall or through the mountains, to raid and steal and plunder everything they could get their hands on. The places nearest the Wall got raided so much and occasionally the lands of the Umbers too saw the troubles of the unruly band from the north of the Wall, their lands north east to the Kingsroad near the Gift. But never once Ned had heard of Wildlings slipping up this far south. Either they were stopped by the Umbers or else they would run back to their lands beyond the Wall, with their plunder. But somehow this time they had managed to creep past the Umbers to come deep to the heart of the north.

They reached the holdfast which stood alone in the crest of a hill, surrounded by a wide uneven plain floored with green grass wet with dew, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. The man he found was old and scrawny, bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting his justice. They must have fought, Ned thought as he saw his broken nose and bleeding lips and the five bloodied bodies laid out near him who should have been his companions. He was dressed all in rags, skins of bears and seals and wolf all sewn into a single fabric of furs all ragged and greasy. The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air. Ned had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before him. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: the grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.

Ned sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. You would want to wear your Lord's face, Ashara would say now if she was here. He might want to look a lord now, he is Lord Stark.

"This is all of them," Ned asked grimly in the chill of the morning.

"Yes, my lord," Martyn Cassel answered. "They tried to fight when our men flushed them out. This one is the only survivor." He gestured over to the man almost hanging in the support of the guards.

Ned nodded drawing his mouth tight. "Bring him over," he commanded.

Two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square.

Ned dismounted and walked over to the ragged man. He thought the wildling might try to run, but he only stood there, waiting, looking at him. Too weary to run perhaps, thought Ned. "I don't need your pity, Lord Stark. Even beyond the wall we hear of the cold Stark justice." 

"What were you doing here in my lands?" Ned asked, curious.

The wildling laughed, a sharp cackle that was so ominous and sent the chill to his bones. "Nothing I say will change your southron mind." He shrugged. "Well, go on with it. There are worse places to end up than finding the edge of a sword."

His men forced the wildling head down onto the hard black wood. Ned beckoned and his guard Desmond brought forth his sword "Ice." The sword was as wide across as a man's hand, and was almost tall as him that it reached his neck. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.

He peeled off his gloves and handed them to Martyn Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name and by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die."

He lifted the greatsword high above his head. Ned had his father's face before him, and did not look away.

He took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting. He could not take his eyes off the blood. The snows around the stump drank it eagerly, reddening as he watched.

The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Porther.

"Burn the bodies," Ned commanded him and mounted up his horse. Porther nodded and shouted some commands to the guardsmen.

It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky. Ned rode in the head of the main party with his guardsmen behind him. The flash of the man's face was dancing before his eyes.

"Has there been any other reports of Wildling attacks," Ned asked to Martyn Cassel riding beside him. The captain of his household guard was a big and broad man, with a hard look and a mouth pressed tight in a line.

"No, my lord" Martyn Cassel said quietly. "They were not staying in one place for a long time. Even when our men found them they were getting ready to leave further south."

Ned raised his eyebrows at that. "Further south?"

Martyn Cassel nodded. "Yes, my lord."

That troubled him. The wildlings had never tried to get into the Seven Kingdoms or rather they never succeeded. With the first wave of attack they would leave back with the things they had stolen. Never once they had tried to get into the Seven Kingdoms or succeeded in doing so. That had followed now too, but it still unnerved him in seeing a band of wildlings this far south.

"We would want to alert the Night's Watch about this," Ned said, urging his horse forward. "If this lot can get this far south then others can too."

The woods was silent around them. They rode up through the crest of a hill. The wet flakes of the summer snows came drifting down, steady and quiet. The ridge slanted sharply from the earth, a long fold of stone and soil shaped like a claw. Trees clung to its lower slopes, pines and hawthorn and ash, but higher up the ground was bare, the ridgeline stark against the cloudy sky.

When the sun came right over their head hanging above the tall pines huge and red, Ned increased his party's pace. It was time they were back to Winterfell. With the thing which happened a little while before in the morning, he wanted nothing more than to return to Winterfell, to sit in the Godswood and seek the quietness, to return to Ashara's arms. Birds burst from the branches overhead as they rode by, clawing and flapping their way into the sky. The wind sighed up amongst the leaves, the squirrels chittering along with them as a song that filled the good green world.

They arrived at Winterfell when the sun was down in the west painting the horizon in a bruised purple with the evening snows fluttering about them. When Ned dismounted, he collected Ice and walked to the Godswood.

The yard was calm as the sun was setting in the west and the people had started to settle in as well. He crossed the yard and passed beneath the bridge between the armory and the Great Keep.

Ned had always liked the godswood. The godswood was an island of peace in the sea of chaos that his life had become. The quiet of it always filled him with a certain peace and hope very much like Ashara's welcoming arms. The old gods gave him strength when he returned back from the south, with a battered and bruised heart. The old gods gave his wife and son back to him safely when he had asked them for it and after what he had done today he needed them and their peace.

The godswood of Winterfell was the heart of the castle,his father would always say. And Lord Rickard had always kept the godswood close to his heart, a thing that Ned himself had taken to his heart. Winterfell itself was built around the godswood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. The smell of moist earth and decay was heavy in the cold air. The sentinel trees stood armored in grey-green needles, amidst the mighty oaks and ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshappen roots wrestled beneath the soil. Ned made his way through the dense stands of oak and ironwood and sentinels, to the still pool beside the heart tree. He stopped under the gnarled limbs of the weirwood and knelt before the sad face of the Heart Tree, long and melancholy with tears of sap red as blood flowing from the eyes filled with sorrow. He stayed there for a moment taking in the quiet. The rustling of the dark red leaves against the wind was the only sound. Ned sat on the moss covered stone beside the water.

He took the greatsword and laid it across his lap. The deep red eyes carved into the pale trunk still watched him, and he took comfort from that. The quiet of the godswood helped him to clear his mind and gave him the peace he so badly sought.

Ned took a piece of cloth and drenched it in the dark cold water from the pool. He ran the wet cloth along the long length of his sword. The wetness of the cloth cleansed the redness of the blood from the dark valyrian steel. It was peaceful here. The peace helped him to clear his thoughts as much as the wet cloth cleared the blood from the dark blade of Ice. The quietness of the godswood helped Ned to calm the thoughts from the morning. He could feel the presence of his gods though, which gave him a certain strength. As dusk was settling over, Eddard Stark sat in the quietness of godswood with his gods cleaning his sword as much as his troubled mind.


	8. Chapter 8

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_**Ashara** _

Ashara had always liked godswoods. The quietness, sounds of birds chirping, the Heart Tree everything about it had fascinated her even when she had been a little girl.

She had been born a Dayne, at Starfall far to the south, on the shores of the SummerSea. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of ancient forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here the floor was always cushioned with damp grass while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and thick gnarled roots lapped over and under beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

But she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he was troubled or in need of peace, he would seek the quiet of the godswood.

Ashara had been anointed with the seven oils and named in the rainbow of light that filled the sept of Starfall. She was of the Faith, like her father and grandfather and his father before him. The Seven had names, and their faces were as familiar as the faces of her parents. Worship was a septon with a censer, the smell of incense, a seven-sided crystal alive with light, voices raised in song. Though the Daynes followed the faith of the Seven, they still came from the time when mighty heroes and emperors from the first age of the world walked the lands, sharing and fighting for their hold with the Children and the Giants and all the other mythical beings which were only to be seen or heard in the wetnurse's stories now. The blood of the First Men flowed in the veins of the Daynes as much as it flowed through her husband's veins. And so the Daynes held to their weirwood as much as their Sept. The godswood of Starfall was as much as important and respected as the Sept. Worship was for the nameless and faceless gods of the godswood as much as for the Seven of the sept.

For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men flowed in the veins of the Starks, never marred with the interference of the Andals and their faith of the Seven and Ned has never astrayed from his old gods, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood their ancestors had shared with the vanished children of the forest.

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. The heart tree, she knew it. The godswood at Starfall had a weirwood for a heart tree which was so much similar to the one at Winterfell that they could have been passed off as twins. The weirwood's bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle's granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

The heart tree at Starfall was older still. It had seen the lands when Dorne was still a sea of forest before it was transformed by the hammer of the Old Gods into what it is today. Its eyes had seen gods walking the earth and the clash between good and evil. Ashara had heard the stories about them at Starfall with her brothers. Tales about Histories, Legends and Heroes from several thousand years before ranging back to the Dawn Age. Like every other lord and lady of the Seven Kingdoms she too knew about her House's origin. Legends states that the first Dayne followed a falling star and raised the castle Starfall where the star crashed upon the earth and forged a sword from the heart of the fallen star. But there was much more to it than what the maesters of Citadel has recorded.

There were many versions of the story but everything started in the old eastern lands of Yi Ti with the Great Empire of Dawn and the Bloodstone Emperor, the legendary ninth and last emperor of the mythic Great Empire of Dawn. Being the younger son of the Opal Emperor he usurped his father's throne by murdering his elder sister, the Amethyst Empress who was his father's heir. He had proclaimed himself as the Bloodstone Emperor and established his reign of terror and treachery.

He practiced torture, dark arts, and necromancy. He enslaved his own people, took a tiger-woman for wife, feasted on human flesh and cast down the true gods of Yi Ti to worship a black stone that fell from the sky. There are some scholars who even believe him to have been the first High Priest of the sinister Church of Starry Wisdom. His usurpation became known as the Blood Betrayal in the annals of the Further East, which claim that the act of usurping his sister's throne ushered in the Long Night. Despairing of the evil that had been unleashed on earth, the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back upon the world, and the Lion of Night came forth in all his wroth to punish the wickedness of men.

When the crimes and evil deeds of the Bloodstone Emperor and his black stone crossed beyond the limits and unleashed chaos and destruction upon the world and the last of hope had died up from the world, the God of Skies and Thunder left his Sky Throne and had followed a falling star to earth in the same way the black stone had fallen to end up in the Bloodstone Emperor's hands. Eldric, he was called in earth by the Children and the first men alike. Eldric Shadowchaser, for he came chasing the black stone of his skies to earth. Though the Bloodstone Emperor ruled in the far eastern lands of Yi Ti, the bright star led Eldric to Westeros right where Starfall now stood. Knowing that it was the dark meteor which gave all the dark powers to the Bloodstone Emperor, the God of Skies and Thunder forged a weapon from the bright star he had followed. Dawn it was called now, though the tales never claimed whether the greatsword was named by her godly ancestor himself or by his heirs who wielded it after him. Eldric raised the castle where the star fell and made it as his own seat and from that day to this Starfall has stood proudly against every attacks never once fallen before any army, not even to Aegon's dragons.

The Long Night unleashed by the Bloodstone Emperor was on its worst when Eldric forged his sword. No one knew how long the darkness endured but legends of Starfall states that it was Eldric who arose to give courage to the race of men and lead the virtuous into battle with his blazing sword that the darkness was put to rout, and light and love returned once more to the world. When Eldric defeated the Bloodstone Emperor and his long night and brought back Dawn to the world his duty in this world was finished and he had returned back to his Sky Throne leaving his son and heir to take care of his sword and castle. The return of the God of Skies and Thunder to his own place had marked the end of the Dawn Age. The Great Empire of the Dawn was not reborn, for the restored world was a broken place where every tribe of men went its own way, fearful of all the others, and war and lust and murder endured.

Eldric's descendants had honored the Sky God's pact with the children of the forest and took their nameless and faceless gods as their own. The weirwood in Starfall was one of the few weirwoods in the south. In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was different. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree, and every heart tree its face.

Ashara found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone. The greatsword Ice was across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade in those waters black as night. A thousand years of humus lay thick upon the godswood floor, swallowing the sound of her feet, but the red eyes of the weirwood seemed to follow her as she came. "Ned," she called softly. He lifted his head to look at her.

"Ashara," he said. His voice was troubled and formal, much like the one he had used with her in Harrenhal when he was still so unconfident to even look at her. "Where is Andrew?" He would always ask her that.

"In the nursery with Old Nan, sleeping." She spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside the pool. She eyed the brooding face of the weirwood much like her husband's. She could feel the eyes watching her, but that didn't troubled her. "He was up all day with full of energy now he has gone tired of it."

Ned chuckled at that.

"Ned," she called for him. "Are you alright?" She could say that he was troubled. Her husband had gone through much the past year. And now this. Ashara didn't knew much about combat warfare but she knew for sure that taking a man's life by looking in his eye was never an easy job.

Ned frowned. "I am alright Ash," he said. "It had to be done. We can't cling on to our old life forever. Winter is coming."

"Yes," Ashara agreed. The words gave her a chill, as they always did. The Stark words. Every noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. All but the Starks. Winter is coming, said the Stark words. Not for the first time, she reflected on what a strange people these northerners were.

"The man died well, I'll give him that," Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one hand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing the metal to a dark glow. "I was glad that they were caught. Else they would have crept deep into the Seven Kingdoms."

"I am proud of you, Ned," Ashara replied, watching the sword as he stroked it. She could see the rippling deep within the steel, where the metal had been folded back on itself a hundred times in the forging. Ashara had always had a certain love for swords, starting from Dawn. She had been a little girl of four when her father, Lord Eldric had shown Dawn to her and her brothers for the first time. Dawn was very different from every other swords she had ever seen. Burning like pale fire, Dawn had a definite beauty to itself. Ever since Ashara had laid her eyes on Dawn she had desperately wanted to become the Sword of the Morning just so she could carry the pretty sword around. When Arthur was given the title of the Sword of the Morning her brother had let her hold Dawn for the first time. She could still remember how light the greatsword felt in her hands, its blade pale as milkglass, alive with light. Like Dawn, Ice had its own beauty. While Dawn had been forged here in Westeros by a God, Ice had been forged in Valyria, before the Doom had come to the old Freehold, when the ironsmiths had worked their metal with spells as well as hammers. Four hundred years old it was, and as sharp as the day it was forged. The name it bore was older still, a legacy from the age of heroes ranging back to the time when the Daynes reigned as the Kings of Torentine and the Starks were Kings in the North.

"His companions were all dead," Ned said grimly. "The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him." He sighed. "We would want to send a raven to the Night's Watch to alert them. Ben writes that the strength of the Night's Watch is down below a thousand. They are losing men on rangings as well."

"Is it the wildlings?" she asked.

"Who else?" Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. "This lot might have been sent to spy us. And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this ragged band for good and all."

"Beyond the Wall?" The thought made Ashara shudder. A war in the south now another one in the north how many wars does he have to take part in.

Ned saw the dread on her face. "The wildlings are nothing for us to fear."

"There are darker things beyond the Wall." She glanced at the heart tree, the pale bark and red eyes, watching, listening, thinking its long slow thoughts.

His smile was gentle. "You listen to too many of Old Nan's stories. The Others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Walys will tell you they never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one."

"Until this morning, no living man had ever seen wildlings this far south," Ashara reminded him.

"I ought to know better than to argue with you, Ashara," he said with a cheerful smile. He slid Ice back into its sheath and kept it aside. "Come here, my lady."

Ashara took her husband's hand. She climbed onto his lap and stretched her legs to the side, settling against his chest.

His eyes found hers, and she could see how soft his hard grey eyes had become. In the Tourney of Harrenhal, Ned had looked at her with those same grey eyes soft as fog. When they got off drunk as a couple of stupid youths and stumbled onto a single bed he had looked at her with those same eyes all the while he was on her, in her. When their boat caught amidst the storms in the Bite he had looked at her with those eyes. Even though he had become a man, she had his soft looks only for her and their son.

"Do you remember the day you told me that you were with child?" he asked, his face relaxing to wipe out the worries from it. Ashara felt the blood rise up at her cheeks at that.

"I do," she replied looking up from her husband's chest. She did remember the day. Ned had been so happy that day that he had left for the godswood to thank his gods. When Ashara came looking for him at dusk she had ended up in his arms same as now. That night they had stayed in the dark beneath the weirwood, amidst the quiet of the godswood, under a blue-black sky dotted with stars. Ashara had taught him everything about stars she had known at Starfall and Ned had listened happily to her all night long.

"That was one of the best days of my life," he said. She could see it on his face of how much he meant everything he said.

"It was one of the best days of my life as well," Ashara said. "I wish we could have had more of them. Days from Harrenhal and the Three Sisters."

Ned smiled at her. "Would that we could, my love. But I would give anything to have them back." He tightened her arms around him and held her closer.

Ashara gave him a smile and reached up to place a kiss upon his lips. "I know that you would do it Ned."

"It is a starry night," Ned looked up to the blank stretch of the sky. "And you're hauntingly beautiful under the stars, my lady." Following her husband Ashara looked up at the sky through the cluster of weirwood leaves, the red leaves now black in the night. Ned had always praised her beauty in the starlight more than anything. It was indeed a starry night. So many stars, she thought as she looked through the sewn branches of pines and firs and ash. Maester Marwyn had taught her her stars as a girl in Starfall; she had learned the names of the twelve houses of heaven and the rulers of each; she could find the seven wanderers sacred to the Faith; she was old friends with the Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of the Morning. The King's Crown was there as well; the Stallion in its rearing form; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to the Smith.

"You want to learn about the stars, my lord?" Ashara asked him smiling. Ned unclasped his cloak and covered it over her.

When he kissed her Ashara didn't wanted any more words to know what he needed. She laid back against her husband, his arms cradling her and began to show him her stars starting with the Sword of the Morning.


	9. Chapter 9

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_**** _

_**Ashara** _

Her handmaiden held the gown up for her inspection. "This is a beauty. You'll look very beautiful in it my lady."

Ashara touched it and caressed the fabric. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. She had worn it only once before when she had married Lord Eddard Stark before the Heart Tree at Harrenhal. She pulled her hand away. "This should do. I would want to look beautiful today, and happy."

"You're beautiful my lady," Lynora said, smiling. "Shall I sent for the girls to bring in your bath."

Ashara nodded and sat beside her wedding gown laid out on her bed. She looked down at the violet gown which brought memories so clear that she remembered every bit of it. Her dance with Ned, their drunken night together in her bed, the King's scream... A little fuss brought her back from those old memories. Ashara turned back to find Andrew awake on her bed, restless. Ashara moved over to him and took him in her arms.  
Andrew reached for her face with his baby arms nestling in her arms. His face brightened with a toothless smile when he saw her. Ashara had tied her hair back in a simple braid and so Andrew couldn't reach her hair. His little fists caught her lips and Ashara kissed them as he dragged it across her lips. Andrew giggled at that and put up his other hand to reach her lips. Ashara kissed his other hand as well making him smile and giggle heavily.

Ashara smiled back at him, caressing his soft cheek with the back of her finger. "What is it, sweetling?"

Andrew looked up at her with big grey eyes and waved his tiny hands at her. Ashara looked at what he was reaching out for. She bowed down to kiss his nose and Andrew put his hands at the side of her face but his little hands couldn't reach her hair. "Not now darling," she gently blew a breath of air over his face. Her little boy made a soft excited noise from his throat and threw up his little arms. Ashara kissed his tiny hands and feet making him shake with smiles and laughter.

"Your bath is ready my lady," Lynora came back for her.

Ashara got up from the bed and crossed over to Andrew's cradle. He wasn't yet ready to crawl out from the bed but she didn't want to take any chances. She placed him back in his cradle and left with Lynora for her bath with a heart heavy with the idea of leaving Andrew behind.

The serving girls filled her tub with steaming hot water and scrubbed her head to toe until she glowed pink. Lynora trimmed her nails and brushed and curled her dark hair so it fell down her back past her waist in soft ringlets. Lynora brought her favorite scents as well as well as a dozen of her richly crafted hairpins. Ashara chose the sharp sweet fragrance of the lavender which was always her favorite along with the scent of rose. Her maid anointed her with the perfume of lavender, a dab on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her breasts.

Lynora went back to her chambers to get her gown while her maids started to dress her. The smallclothes were all silk and her maids dressed her in her silken wisps. When Lynora came back with her gown, her gown went on next following the smallclothes. The gown itself was a deep violet samite and lined and laced with purple satin and rich violet Myrish lace. Over the layer of samite silk, the gown was covered with a layer of ornate satin silk and Myrish lace in purple elaborately decorated as dozens of flowers ranging from roses to lily and streaming stars chasing around the hem. Clear white diamonds were fixed on the ornate satin layer which glittered in the light. It was a woman's gown, not a little girl's, there was no doubt of that. The gown fitted her body tightly around her slender waist and brought out her generous curves and delicate breasts. The last time she had worn this gown she had changed into a married woman. She had changed from Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall to Lady Ashara Stark, wife of Lord Eddard Stark. The skirts were long and full, the waist so tight that Ashara had to hold her breath as they laced her into it. Lynora brought her glass slippers and slipped them on her feet. They pinned her hair in the back over the nape of her neck with an elegant pin made of shining silver arc with sparkling freshwater pearls fixed on the silver frame and a floral pattern made of tiny golden leaves and vines was in the center. "You are very beautiful, my lady," her handmaiden said when she was dressed.

Beautiful was the word she had always heard ever since she was given to the care of her septa while her brothers were sent to Ser Ector to train in arms and become as knights. It was nothing new to her.

"Oh, I am," Ashara said as she glanced at her image in the silvered looking glass. She left for her chambers when she was all dressed up.

Andrew was waiting for her in the cradle quietly, eyes open and wondering the granite ceiling. He was still in his sleepsuit in which she had clad him in before lulling him to sleep the previous night. She would want to change his dressing. Ashara crossed the room and went over to her wardrobe where she'd kept her son's dresses as well. She took a grey velvet suit in which he was comfortable over his rich clothing and a fresh woolen cloak and furs to keep him warm.

Though her baby was much playful he made it easy for her to dress him. Andrew stayed quiet on the bed all the while she clad him in layers of wools and velvets, helping him to stay warm.

Ashara kissed his forehead and smoothed his hair, gently running her fingers through his dark hair. Andrew caught a lock of her hair which slipped free from its place and giggled happily. Ashara took him in her arms and kissed him again. "You ready to meet uncle Arthur, Andrew?"

Her son closed his fingers on her hair firmly as if he was saying his answer. Ashara took him to the Great Hall to break her fast. Ned was already there in the Great Hall speaking with Ser Rodrik and Maester Walys. Ashara crossed the length of the Great Hall and reached the dais.

"Ash," Ned smiled at her. "You're beautiful."  
Ashara smiled back at him and took her place beside him. He leaned for her and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, Ned," Ashara said with a gentle smile.

"How is Andrew?" Ned asked brushing their son's hair.

"He is fine," Ashara said looking down at Andrew. "Very much excited to see his uncle."

Ned nodded. "I have sent Martyn south with an honor guard to meet Ser Arthur on the kingsroad and escort him back to Winterfell. You'll be notified once Martyn sends word to us my lady."

"Thank you, my lord," Ashara told him.

Ned kissed her cheek again and turned to talk with Ser Rodrik.

Ashara took a bite from her piece of boar thinking of when her brother would arrive at her new home. It has been almost two years now that she had seen her brother. The last time Ashara had seen him, he was all dressed in his Kingsguard white, waving at her from the land, sending her off to Winterfell with her husband after their short unhappy stay at King's Landing. When Ashara saw the letter from King's Landing she had been partly afraid of what to make out of it. When she saw the letter from Lord Manderly three days past stating that her brother has reached the north all her inconstancies had fled out to be replaced by the excitement and happiness she has had as a girl who was so excited to get to King's Landing. That was a sunny day, she remembered. Arthur himself had come to Starfall splendid in his new white armor to take her to King's Landing to serve as Princess Elia's Lady-in-Waiting. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Her father had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with her brother full with smiles and laughs. King's Landing was nothing about smiles and laughs she had learned soon enough once she entered the great city and saw the Red Keep. It was nothing like Starfall. It was big and boring and the people always thought one in their mind and talked one which was the exact opposite of what they had in mind. In Red Keep, everyone had their loyalties and lies working for someone else for their own advantage. It is the place where one couldn't even place a step without watching out for the dangers lurking throughout the castle. In the Red Keep, you could trust no one and no one would trust you unless they want something from you. If there was one thing that Ashara Dayne had learned in the court and castle of Aerys Targaryen, it was mistrust.

"My lady," Maester Walys' voice pushed away those dire thoughts from her past.

Ashara turned to her right to see Maester Walys fumbling with his papers and scrolls.

"The guest chambers near your own are prepared for Ser Arthur as my lady commanded," Maester Walys told her.

"Thank you, Maester Walys," Ashara said to him.

"Instructions have been given to the cooks, my lady. There won't be any flaws in the feast, " Maester Walys promised.

Ashara smiled at the Maester. "Arthur has very little interest in foods maester." She knew her brother. Arthur had never shown any interest in foods, rich or simple. Be it a rich swan or simple broth he would treat both same. "It is the yard we should care about. My brother will want to spar."

"That won't be a problem, my lady," Ser Rodrik said from Ned's left. "Our yard is always welcome to see the Sword of the Morning in action. Maybe he could teach our recruits a thing or two."

Arthur will surely enjoy that. The rest of the morning went past in a flurry and Ashara spent the noon running her castle and taking care of the things for her brother's arrival. The sun rose high up in the sky and crossed over to the western part still there was no word of her brother. Even Andrew was growing out of patience. Ashara fed him and rocked him in her arms, humming a quiet song she knew to calm him. Andrew became quiet in her arms and stared up at her with wide eyes listening to her tune.

She was about to finish her song when the much-expected knock came. Ashara rushed to the door holding her son firm and gentle in her arms even before Lynora could step a few feet away from the chair she was sitting upon. When she opened the door Desmond was waiting for her with his hand half raised to knock again. "Harwin has come with word from Martyn Cassel, m'lady," he said bowing. "Your brother is near."

"Has my husband been informed?" Ashara asked him.

"Lord Eddard is already in the yard, m'lady. He is waiting for you," Desmond replied.

Ashara left Andrew with Lynora in her chambers. It was snowing outside and she didn't want her baby out in the snow. She closed the door behind her and reached the yard, half the way running and half walking.

The entire household of Winterfell was assembled in the yard to see her brother. It was no surprise that they wanted to see the Sword of the Morning. Even this far here in the north they talked about the great deeds of her brother. She has heard the fascinated talks of her people, Ser Arthur Dayne, deadliest of the seven knights of Aerys's Kingsguard, our lady's brother.

Ned smiled at her when she came beside him. Her husband took her hand in his and Ashara held his hand tightly, smiling. Winterfell's men came through the gates first, white banners with the direwolf of the Stark streaming from their tall pikes. Martin Cassel, the captain of Winterfell's guard led them. One by one, men passed through the gates, Ashara knew every one of them, Alyn, Porther, Cayn... and there behind Tomard he was. White cloak so akin to the snows gathered upon the crenellations of Winterfell's towers flowing from his shoulders, dressed in an intricate suit of pale armor shining like a star with silver chasings and clasps glittering in the sun, riding his warhorse with all the ease and grace he possessed even as a boy. The riders gave way for him and he rode to the center of the yard and dismounted. When he removed his helm, Ashara saw that he hadn't changed one bit from the last time she had seen him. His dark hair was short just like he liked it, his face grim and jaw tight with a closely trimmed beard. Arthur cradled his helm under one arm and looked around Winterfell critically. When his eyes found hers, purple eyes so deep that they bordered on indigo, her brother gave her a smile. Oh, how much I've missed his smile? Ashara wanted to run to him and hug him to make sure that he was there, that she was not dreaming all of this. She gripped Ned's hand tighter to keep her from doing so. She is Lady of Winterfell now, not a little girl. Ned looked at her and freed his hand from hers and cocked his head towards Arthur. All her properties died with it as Ashara gathered her skirts and ran to her brother. She jumped to him and her brother caught her just like he caught her always. Ashara threw her arms around him and embraced him in a bone crushing hug. Arthur held her in his arms and twirled her around twice before placing her on the ground.  
"Gods you've grown," Arthur told her grinning so wide that it lit up his grim, sullen face. "A few more years and I don't think I could lift you again."

Ashara swatted at his arm where no plate was there to save him. Her blow only made him grin more along with the others in the yard. Arthur hugged her again, gently and pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I've missed you, Ash."

Ashara looked up at him with a smile. "I've missed you too, Arthur."

She took his hand in hers and brought him before her husband. Her brother studied Ned the same way he had done two years before when Arthur had taken the place of their father to see her wed Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

"Lord Stark," her brother greeted her husband.

"Ser Arthur," Ned replied, his voice so solemn and formal that it could challenge Arthur's.

The way they stood and talked made her feel strangely afraid. She felt as if she was still a girl who got caught by her brother in her romance. She remembered the look on her brother's face when she had told him about her night at Harrenhal with Ned. Arthur had been so angry that day that she feared he might've hurt Ned if she had told him that it was Ned whom she loved and surrendered her virtue to. It took a great effort of her talks to calm him down somehow and convince him of how good and kind Ned was. When her brother finally saw Ned in the Godswood he might have punched him in the face if not for her intervention. In the end, the fact that Ned chose to marry her and not just enjoying her in her bed for a single night had calmed Arthur and she'd been glad for that.

"Welcome to Winterfell," Ned spoke again after a moment of silence. "The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

Arthur nodded showing his acceptance with a smile. They moved to the Great Keep and Ashara offered to take Arthur to his chambers.

"Do you have to live so far up here?" Arthur chuckled as they climbed the winding steps for his chambers. "It took a great deal of my time to reach here. Do you remember what Maester Marwyn would say about the north?"

"That the north is as big as all the other kingdoms combined," Ashara said it along with her brother and giggled remembering their old days together at Starfall.

"It is true," Arthur admitted. "I've seen it for myself."

They passed through the gallery and climbed the stairs for the tower room where Arthur's chambers were accompanied by her own. Ashara crossed her own chambers and opened the door of Arthur's chambers.

"This is the tallest place here in the Great Keep," Ashara said as they entered the room. "At least next to mine." She smiled like a little girl who'd gotten more sweets than her brother. At Starfall, brother and sister both had their chambers in the Palestone Sword Tower, the highest tower Ashara had ever seen. Not even the Red Keep's towers or Winterfell's own could match its might.

Arthur smiled back and looked around his new room. He walked to the windows and opened the shutters overlooking the yard. "How are you handling the cold?" Arthur asked concerned. "There's snow outside."

"Summer snows are common enough," Ashara told him. "They're usually mild but it won't be a problem. Winterfell is always warm, even when it snows. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it is always like the hottest day of summer."

Arthur turned back to her and placed his helm on the table.

"How did Rhaegar allow you to come here?" Ashara asked.

Her brother smiled at her confusion. "Rhaegar never sent me to Winterfell, Ash. My task was to go to the Wall to meet Maester Aemon and get some scrolls for His Grace."

His Grace... The word brought a vile taste to her mouth. "But Arthur you shouldn't have risked this," Ashara clutched her brother's arm. "Who knows what Rhaegar will do when he learns that you've defied his orders."

Arthur took her hands in his. "The Others take Rhaegar and his orders," Arthur swore. "There is no way that I'm passing the north without seeing my little sister or her little one."

She had almost forgotten everything in the flurry of things. "Wait," Ashara said to her brother and left his chambers for hers. Lynora was playing with Andrew and her son's faint laughs and smiles filled the room.

Ashara got her son from Lynora and sent her handmaiden off to get some food and rest. When she came back to her brother's room, Arthur was discarding his armor. Ashara brought Andrew to her brother and placed him in his arms. Arthur held her baby gently in his arms as if not to hurt him. Andrew pressed his hands against the pale armor and smiled widely.

"So here he is," her brother announced grinning from ear to ear. "The Sword of the Morning."

Ashara whapped his arm again with the back of her hand but that only made her brother laugh more.

"He looks like you, Ash," Arthur said smiling at Andrew.

"Really?" Ashara asked him knowing full and well that he is lying. "Everyone says that he looks like his father."

Arthur chuckled. "Oh, he does. But the hair, the nose and some little things these are definitely yours."

Ashara looked at her son in Arthur's arms looking up with grey eyes wide with excitement.

"Did you hear anything from Starfall?" Arthur asked her.

All of her joy withered in her face at the mention of Starfall. She moved over to the open windows. Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. "There was a raven," she told her brother. "Aaron cannot come after what... what happened to father... and mot... mother." Grief choked her throat and the words wouldn't come out. For a heartbeat she felt frightened like a little girl who had lost her mother and father in some unknown place. "I miss them."

Arthur looked at her puzzled. "Are you crying?"

Ashara brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and found them wet. She hadn't felt the tears flowing down her cheeks until now. Arthur crossed the room to embrace her. "It's alright, Ash." He murmured into her hair and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Ashara hugged him fiercely.

"They loved you," he said holding her. "And they would've loved your son so much. He is so much like you. Calm and quiet. I have no doubt that they would've cherished him."

"Calm and quiet?" Ashara moved back from him. "You said that I was a noisy baby and screamed so much even than Allyria."

Arthur rolled his eyes at her. "Did I say that?" he asked her and continued when she nodded. "Well sometimes you were quite wild but other times you were calm."

Ashara laughed at that, laughing through her tears, finding comfort in her brother. Arthur gave Andrew back to her. She felt strengthened and brave with her son in her arms.

"Does Rhaegar know about Andrew?" Ashara asked her brother.

"Yes," Arthur admitted. "But you have nothing to worry about it. You're safe here in Winterfell. Your husband has powerful friends. Rhaegar would never dare to show up at your doorstep unless he wants to die. You and your son are safe here in the north, Ash."

Ashara wanted to believe him. He is her brother and she would believe him. ”But if it comes to war, Arthur," she felt a sudden chill running down her spine, "I want you to stay away from my husband. Promise me, Arthur. Promise me, that you would never harm Ned." She knows that it is too much to ask of him but she need to make sure of it.

Her brother kept silent. He looked down at her and then at Andrew in her arms. "I promise, Ash. I would never harm your husband," he said at last. "I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Eddard** _

Ned watched the riders go from atop the outer wall—one party, with two men, each carrying letters signed by his own hand for the Lords Manderly and Umber. He knew them both. Cayn and Porther. Every name of his men was graven on his heart.

When the riders had disappeared into the trees, Eddard Stark came back away from the battlements of Winterfell with Vayon Poole and Martyn Cassel beside him. They climbed down the steps in silence. Even the sounds of their boots stepping on the stone steps were silenced by the powdered snow which covered the steps. The drawbridge had been left down, to allow them to cross between Winterfell's inner and outer battlements easily. Ned looked down at the moat which separated the walls of Winterfell. From up high it seemed no more than a plain of green and grey.

"Do you think this will work, my lord?" Martyn Cassel asked as they moved to the inner wall.

Ned did not smile. "Let us hope that this works, Martyn."

Lord Manderly's galleys were reporting ever-increasing numbers of ships along the eastern shores of the north all the way south of the White Knife and the eastern coast of the north. Galleys had been seen, cogs with painted hulls, even an Ironborn longship with the golden Kraken sail.

And how am I going to fight in the seas without any ships? Ned had sent enough gold with Cayn and Porther for Wyman Manderly and the Greatjon to meet the expenses for building the ships. He had sent ten boys from Winter Town for the each of them. Green boys and old men, but all capable of doing work of one sort or another.

They climbed down the pathway to the Battlements Gate. The passage twisted to the left. There before them, behind a veil of morning mist, yawned the Battlements Gate, flanked by a pair of guards. In their wool and fur and leather, they looked as big as bears. The spears they held were eight feet tall. "M'lord," they said at once when Ned passed them.

The yard was a wide expanse of grey and green in the morning sun, full of half-heard sounds that echoed strangely amidst the mists.

Ned crossed the yard, his cloak swirling behind him with the captain of his household guard and his steward trailing behind him. Outside the armory, Ser Rodrik was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Ned. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Brandon or Benjen under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. After that, it had been with Robert in the high lands of the Eyrie. Those memories have fallen too. The great stronghold of House Stark was a bleak castle without his lord father and his siblings and the looming mountains of the Eyrie were far away from his grasp, much like his childhood days. All my memories are poisoned.

When Ser Rodrik spied him, he raised a hand and combat ceased. "Lord Eddard. How may we serve you?"

"With your three best."

Ser Rodrik grinned. "Jon. Gared. Hart." Jory and Martyn fetched padding for Lord Stark, along with a ringmail hauberk to go over it, and greaves, gorget, and halfhelm. A black shield rimmed with iron for his left arm, a blunted longsword for his right hand. The sword gleamed silvery grey in the dawn light, almost new. One of the new to come from Mikken's forge. The blade was much shorter than Ice but made of common steel, which made it heavier. His blows would be a little slower. "It will serve." Ned turned to face his foes. "Come."

"Which one do you want first, my lord?" asked Ser Rodrik.

"All three of them. At once."

"Three on one?" Jon was incredulous. "That wouldn't be fair." He was one of the latest bunch from Winter Town, a whore's son from the brothel in Winter Town.

"True. Come here." When he did, Ned's blade slammed him alongside his head, knocking him off his feet. In the blink of an eye the boy had a boot on his chest and a swordpoint at his throat.

"War is never fair," Ned told him. "It's two on one now, and you're dead." When he heard gravel crunch, he knew the other two were coming. Those two will make better swordsmen yet. He spun, blocking Gared's cut with the edge of his shield and meeting Hart's with his sword.

"Those aren't spears," he shouted. "Get in close."

He went to the attack to show them how it was done. Hart first. He slashed at his head and shoulders, right and left and right again. The boy got his shield up and tried a clumsy countercut. Ned slammed his own shield into Hart's, and brought him down with a blow to the lower leg ... none too soon, because Gared was on him, with a crunching cut to the back of his thigh that sent him to one knee. That will leave a bruise. He caught the next cut on his shield, then lurched back to his feet and drove Gared across the yard. He's quick, he thought, as the longswords kissed once and twice and thrice, but he needs to get stronger. When he saw relief in Gared's eyes, he knew Hart was behind him. He came around and dealt him a cut to the back of the shoulders that sent him crashing into Gared. By that time Jon had found his feet, so Ned put him down again. "Never stay in a place for too long and you'll find yourself dead even before you know." Stepping back, he lowered his sword.

"Impressive feet from Lord Stark," growled a voice behind him, "You should show more of them in the tourneys."

Ser Arthur came splendid in his white armor with his helmet tucked beneath his hands. A neatly trimmed stubble covered his cheeks, and his white cloak was streaming behind him in the cool morning air.

"I don't fight in tourneys, Ser Arthur," Ned told his goodbrother.

"Real shame," replied Ser Arthur Dayne. "Well then how about a friendly spar?"

A friendly spar with the Sword of the Morning, Ned has seen this moment in his dreams, crossing swords with the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne. He had thought that to happen in his marriage at Harrenhal for Ashara's honor. He had walked the entire day fearing that Ser Arthur would come for him after hearing his sister's dishonor. But as the sun went down in the west it was Ashara who came for him to the godswood as a maid to be wed.

He still remembered the day as easy as he would his name. Howland Reed had accompanied him that day as Ned waited for his bride in the quiet of Harrenhal's godswood. When Ashara had entered the godswood with her brother beside her, her mere presence had lit up the dull hollowness of Harrenhal's godswood. In her purple ornate satin silk and diamonds, Ashara had been an amethyst goddess. In all his life Ned had never seen a sight lovelier than her. Had there ever been a maid so sweet to look upon? If there was a sight lovelier than her he is yet to see it. Even though it was the sight of Ashara which worried his body, the sight of the tall and strong knight beside her had frightened him the most. Where Ashara had been all smiles and excitement Ser Arthur was well reserved and stoic. His smiles were only for his little sister and not for his soon to be goodbrother. Only his glares were directed to him. Ned never hated him for that. What would I have done if I had been in his place? What would I have done if it was Lyanna who came losing her virtue to a man who is a complete stranger like the same way Ashara had gone to Ser Arthur? He did nothing though.

And to have a practice sparring with the Sword of the Morning would be the dream of almost all men in Westeros, to have a fight with Ser Arthur Dayne. Though it didn't feel as if it was a simple offer for a sparring for Ned. The smile in Ser Arthur's face told otherwise. He is testing me if I am worthy enough for his sister. The thought made very little sense for him, after all these years, after I've given Ashara a babe he is testing me. If he still thinks me to be unworthy of his sister, I'll correct him in it.

"Of course, Ser Arthur," Ned told his goodbrother. "A practice spar shouldn't be a problem."

Ser Arthur grinned lightly and looked as if he was going to draw Dawn, the infamous blade of House Dayne from his back. That was when he looked to his right towards the armory and Ned followed his sight. He saw Ashara standing in the covered bridge connecting the armory and the Great Keep, a lady in silver. Dressed in a sleeveless silvery satin gown Ashara looked like a star in the grey gloomy sky. Ned wanly remembered the way men had taken to call her at Harrenhal, as the Silver Star and as the Silver Lady. Looking at her all in silver he could only agree with them.

Though she was not dressed perfect enough for the cold she had their son all bundled up in velvets and furs at her breast. Ashara gave him a gentle smile and looked to her brother. Ser Arthur nodded at her and turned to face him.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light. He kept the pale blade against the armory and donned his helm.

Clad in the pure white plate of the Kingsguard, the Sword of the Morning seemed to stand a little straighter. He seemed taller too, his shoulders thicker and more powerful than Ned would have thought. Ser Arthur waved away the shield Jory offered him. Instead he asked for dual longswords. He twirled the dulled blades in his hands and brought it to a halt in a deadly arc. Ned had never seen someone wielding dual blades using both arms and doing it with such agility and grace. Both the dull blades came to life in Ser Arthur's arms. "You're very well welcome to get the help of another sword, Lord Stark."

Ned looked for Ser Rodrik and rushed for the Sword of the Morning with him.

Ser Arthur took a step backwards and met the charge with a huge overhead slash. If Ned had not interposed his shield, it might have staved his breast-plate in and broken half his ribs. The force of the blow staggered him for a moment and sent a solid jolt up his arm. He hits harder than I would have thought. His quickness was another unpleasant surprise. They circled round each other Ned with Ser Rodrik beside him, Ser Arthur with only his dual blades as his company, trading blow for blow. The Sword of the Morning gave as good as he was getting. By rights the two-handed wielding should have been a deal more cumbersome than Ned's longsword, but the Sword of the Morning wielded both his swords with blinding speed.

The northerners cheered their lord at the start, but the relentless speed of Ser Arthur Dayne's attack soon beat them down to silence. He cannot keep this up for long, Ned told himself as he stopped another blow. The impact made him grunt. Even dulled, the dual swords cracked his pinewood shield and bent the iron rim. Ser Rodrik's shield was not faring good as well. When Ned ducked himself beneath his shield he could hear the hack of the sword and the crack of wood following it. He will tire soon. He must. Ned slashed at the kingsguard's face, and Ser Arthur pulled back his head. He hacked down at the Sword of the Morning's calf, only to have him move to one knee and bring the blade in his left arm to block his blade. The right handed sword crashed down onto Ned's shoulder, hard enough to ding his pouldron and numb the arm beneath while the left kept Ser Rodrik at bay. Ned backed away. The Sword of the Morning came after, chortling. He has no shield, Ned reminded himself, and that two swords should be too awkward for parries. I should be landing two blows for every one of his.

Somehow he wasn't, though, and the blows he did land were having no effect. His goodbrother always seemed to be moving away or sliding sideways, so Ned's longsword glanced off a shoulder or an arm. Before long he found himself giving more ground, trying to avoid the other's crashing cuts and failing half the time. His shield had been reduced to kindling. He shook it off his arm. Sweat was running down his face and stinging his eyes beneath his helm. Beside him Ser Rodrik was losing his footing too. He is too strong and too quick, he realized, and with those dual swords moving freely and independently as if they were part of his arms his goodbrother managed to keep both him and Ser Rodrik at bay without losing his ground and footing.

Before he knew Ser Arthur was upon him again. Ned lost his footing in the flurry of swords and went down to one knee. He tried to fight his way back up to his feet but the Sword of the Morning was getting better of him. His goodbrother hammered him to the hard ground before turning for Ser Rodrik. Two more moves and Ser Rodrik lost his sword to find Ser Arthur Dayne's blade poised against him while the Sword of the Morning directed the other blade at him.  
When Ned dropped his head and nodded Ser Arthur lowered his blade. He thrust the sword point first against the ground and offered him a hand. Ned looked at him for a while and accepted his goodbrother's hand. Ser Arthur removed his helm and helped him to his feet. Ned accepted his help and unbuckled his helm. It had acquired several deep dents that had not been there when he'd donned it.

"Well fought, Lord Stark," Ser Arthur told him and gave a nod to Ser Rodrik Cassel who accepted his words with a wincing smile.

He looked for Ashara. She was still there standing in her place on the bridge. There was no disappointment in her face as he had thought to see. She had the same smile she had for him before the spar began. Despite his pain Ned found her smile soothing. Leaving his battered armor in the armory he walked away to carry on his duties as the Lord of Winterfell.

By nightfall the bruises that Ser Arthur Dayne had given him had turned purple. He was too observed with his bruises that he didn't see Ashara entering his chambers. He saw her when he heard the door closing behind her. He found himself smiling at her despite the bruises her brother had given him. "Ash," he said smiling. "Where is Andrew?"

She never moved from the door. "In the nursery with Old Nan."

Ned stood up from his place and walked to her. He felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. He touched her face where she was flushed pink and held his hand there. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you."

Ashara chuckled at that. "Disappoint me?" she replied laughing. "If I wanted a man who could best my brother in a duel in my bed, I would go to my grave as a maiden." She pressed her palm against his cheek. Her hand was warm against his skin in the northern cold. "I love you, Ned. I am always proud of you."

Ned took her hand at his cheek in his and kissed her. A light kiss, a merest brush of his lips on hers. It took all his will to stop it at there. "You should be with your brother," Ned said breathless.

Ashara looked up at him, confused. "I thought you would want me tonight," she replied.

As she said that, Ned leaned forward to kiss his wife. There was no gentleness in the kiss he returned to her as he walked her back, only hunger. Her mouth opened for his tongue and she moaned into his mouth.

As he pressed her against the wall of his chamber, Ned was glad that he didn't trip her over her gown. The silver skirts of Ashara's silver satin gown were flowing for a good two feet behind her draping over the floor after her. He kissed her again, kissed her silent, kissed her until she moaned. He felt so bold with her, as bold as the drunken youth who had stolen the gift of her innocence. His hands trailed down, kneading her breasts and squeezing them so hard that it disarrayed her pretty silver satin at her bosom. He kissed her neck when she moaned for him tilting her head back against the warm walls. Ned rubbed and dragged his teeth and short stubble against the pale unblemished skin of Ashara's neck which only made her moan louder.

Ned cupped the heat between Ashara's legs through her satin silk as he pushed her up against the wall. His chambers filled with the soft, wet sounds of their kissing. His hands moved down her skirts and tore off the silken shift beneath to find the steaming wet heat between her legs. When he started to press her sex Ashara started to moan, low in her throat.

Her voice was low and weak. Her hands buried themselves in his hair and pulled his face down to her breast. Ned mouthed her breasts through her smooth silver satin. He gripped her silver gown below her neck and yanked it down. The thin flowing silk fabric of her satin gown came ripped off from her body in half exposing the silken chemise underneath. Ned tore the chemise from her body as well, exposing the naked body of his wife. He took her freshly released breasts in his mouth and worried her rosy nipples with his teeth. He gazed up to see his wife. Ashara had her eyes closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her dark hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he couldn't miss her beauty.

Ned continued to work his fingers between her legs, all the while savaging Ashara's breasts with his mouth, tearing and chewing. Her wetness flowed through his hands generously and he found his hands coated slick with her nectar. He dropped down to his knees pressing kisses to her belly through the torn gown. He rucked up her skirts around her waist and gently pushed her legs apart and kissed her between the thighs. Ashara moaned above him. He kissed her again, and licked at her secret sweetness, on and on until his beard and her cunt were both soaked. When she gave a soft moan and shuddered, Ned took her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

When he laid her in his bed, Ned climbed atop her and thrust himself inside her. Ashara moaned at their coupling. Ned buried his face in her neck and moved inside her steadily. It was quite an irony to think of the morning as he made love to Ashara. To think about a Dayne standing over him victorious in the yard and then to have a Dayne moaning and writhing beneath him in his bed. He looked down to see his wife as he made love to her. Ashara's eyes were closed and her head tipped back against the bed. She was so lovely and sweet and innocent beneath him. Her wonderous curves, her sweet mouth red from his kisses, her haunting violet eyes. He hovered over her, thrusting into her, overwhelming her, controlling her with his want. As he saw Ashara, her writhing body, her gorgeous moans, her violet eyes rolling, urging him to his release he exploded at once, spilling his seed deep inside her groaning her name against her neck.

Her eyes were open. She smiled and stroked his head and whispered, "I love you, Ned."

Ned nipped at her small hard nipple and nestled his head on her shoulder. He did not pull out of her; would that he never had to pull out of her. "I love you too, Ashara," he told her. It is real, all of it, he thought, the wars, the intrigues, the great bloody game, and me in the center of it . . . me, the second son, the quiet wolf, but he had the girl he had wanted, they all had wanted. I was never made for this, but gods forgive me, that I do love this . . . And her. And her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make some things clear, Arthur is honestly struck with guilt for what happened to Elia and her children. He still blames himself for their death and hence we see him having a beard as a sign of grieving. Note: Arthur never ever had a beard beforehand. He was always cleanly shaved.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Ashara** _

You should cover your head, Ash," Arthur told her as their horses plodded north. "You will take a chill."

"It is only water, Arthur," Ashara replied. Her dark hair streamed wet and glistening, a loose strand stuck to her forehead, and she could imagine how ragged and wild she must look, but for once she did not care. The northern rain was hard and chill unlike the southern rains which were soft and warm. Ashara liked the feel of it on her face, gentle as a mother's kisses, only more cold than warm. But the fact that she was riding her horse as hard and as free as if she was still the little girl at Starfall warmed it up. It took her back to her childhood, to long sunny days at Starfall. She remembered the godswood, blooming up in half a hundred colors of the flowers of different kinds, and the sound of her brother's laughter as he chased her through the forest floor covered with fallen leaves and flowers. She remembered her mother making floral crowns for her, roses were what she would add to the crown, roses red and white and yellow and gold, even the blue winter roses. Ashara had always found her love for flowers to have come from her mother. Lady Alysanne Hightower had loved her flowers as a girl, as a wife to a noble lord and as a mother to her children. Her mother had told her the stories of how her father had renewed the gardens of Starfall for her sake after he married her. They would sit together as a family in the gardens some nights, talking and laughing long into the night until they would fall asleep there. How young they all had been.

Ashara had almost forgotten. Sometimes in the north, the rain fell so harsh and cruel, that at night it turned to ice. It was as likely to kill a crop as nurture it, and it sent grown men running for the nearest shelter. That was no rain for little girls to play in. But today it seemed as if the gods have granted her wish and kept the weather bearable so as Ashara could enjoy some beautiful time with her brother. She had spent almost all the time with Arthur since he arrived in Winterfell but what she yearned for was the old days where they would run through the banks of the Torrentine, where they would swim in the swirling waters of the river, where they would race in the woods around Starfall, turning their mounts hard and fast through the trees and over the piles of moist leaves. With the wind and the rain against her face she almost felt like the carefree girl she had been.

"I am soaked through," her brother complained. "Even my bones are wet." The woods pressed close around them, and the steady pattering of rain on leaves was accompanied by the small sucking sounds their horses made as their hooves pulled free of the mud. "You should be careful as well, Ash. The gods only know what a chill could do here in the north."

Ashara looked to her brother, smiling. "Are you afraid, Arthur?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "What happened to the brother who led my horse rashly in the banks of Torrentine? What happened to the brother who would chase me through the rains till our clothes were sodden wet? What happened to the brother who taught me to swim and to row a boat?"

"Nothing has happened to him, of course. As far as I know," Arthur smiled back. "I am only being cautious. Back then you were shining in the lands of always summer."

"And now what?" Ashara asked with a girlish giggle. "I am in the lands of always winter? Trust me Arthur, I can assure you, those lands are a long way away beyond the Wall."

Ashara glanced at her brother on his horse and turned her horse's head. She gave a quick smirk at him as she slammed her heels into the courser's flank. Right between Arthur and an old oak she flew, and caught one glimpse of her brother's startled face as his destrier stopped in its tracks. And then she was in the open field, and running.

North or south, east or west, that made no matter now. All she wanted was to race her brother just like the old times. Ashara leaned forward in the saddle and urged the horse to a gallop. Behind her Arthur gave a curse and shout and urged his mount after hers. She shut her mind off all the other things and thought only about outracing her brother. When she glanced back over her shoulder her brother was coming after her, with a broad smile upon his face, his pure white cloak flapping behind him as he rode.

Ashara dashed across brown weedy fields, through waist-high grass and piles of damp leaves that flurried and flew when her horse galloped past. The Wolfswood was ranging to her left, she saw. I can beat him there. A narrow brook ran along one side of the field, but she leapt it without breaking stride, and plunged in among the stand of elm and yew and birch trees. A quick peek back showed her brother still hard on her heels. He still had his tremulous grin plastered on his face. "Faster," she told her horse, "you can, you can."

Between two elms she rode, and never paused to see whether her brother made it through with his war horse. She leapt a rotten log and swung wide around a monstrous deadfall, jagged with broken branches. Then up a gentle slope and down the other side, slowing and speeding up again, her horse's shoes striking sparks off the flintstones underfoot. At the top of the hill she glanced back. Arthur had pushed ahead further and was coming hard.

A stream barred her way. She splashed down into it, through water choked with wet brown leaves. Some clung to her horse's legs as they climbed the other side. The undergrowth was thicker here, the ground so full of roots and rocks that she had to slow, but she kept as good a pace as she dared. Another hill before her, this one steeper. Up she went, and down again. How big are these woods? she wondered. Her horse was one of the fastest in Winterfell's stables. The master of horse, Hullen had claimed that he was one of his best, but his speed was wasted here. I need to find the fields again. I need to find the Kingsroad. Instead she found a game trail. It was narrow and uneven, but it was something. She raced along it, branches whipping at her face. One snagged her hair and yanked it back, and for half a heartbeat she feared that her hair had been ripped off. A hare burst from the brush as she passed, startled by the fury of her flight. The game trail brought her to another stream. Or was it the same one? Had she gotten turned around? There was no time to puzzle it out, she could hear her brother's horse crashing through the trees behind her. Ravens exploded from the branches of an alder. But the trees were thinning now, and suddenly she was out of them. Broad level fields stretched before her, all weeds and wild wheat, sodden and trampled. Ashara kicked her horse back to a gallop. Run, she thought, run as hard as you can, run as fast as you can. Had her brother given up? Had she lost him? She took one quick look, and there was Arthur six yards back and gaining. No, she thought, no, he can't, not again, it isn't fair.

Both horses were lathered and flagging by the time her brother came up beside her, reached over, and grabbed her bridle. Ashara was breathing hard herself then. She knew the fight was done. "You ride like a storm Ashara," Arthur said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "But I am the Sword of the Morning, remember. I still have some skills left under my sleeve to charm my little sister."

Ashara raised her eyebrows and watched him in silence. They both laughed in unison after a few minutes of silence. "I'll beat you one day," Ashara finally said when their laughs were died out.

"Aye, One day," Arthur nodded. He turned back and looked around. "We better not be lost."

"We are not lost," Ashara looked around and observed the land.

Ashara knew the maps as well as anyone, but the moment Ned brought her to the north she had found that the map was one thing and the land was quite another. The Kingsroad here in the north was a wild track unlike the well maintained parts of it which ran through the other kingdoms. In her time here as the Lady of Winterfell, Ashara had managed to learn about the place she was ruling from her husband. Ned was a good teacher, he told her everything he knew about the north right from the Neck in the south to the Wall in the North and from the Bay of Seals in the East to the Sunset Sea in the West.

She looked up to the sky for the sun and found it amongst the clouds almost right above their head but still slanting somewhat to the east. Midday was almost upon them and the rain was drooping still. Ashara looked around them examining the lands. To their west were flint hills, grey and rugged, with tall watchtowers on their stony summits. To the east the land was lower, the ground flattening to a rolling plain that stretched away as far as the eye could see. She knew the lands, the kingsroad would be sprawling away only a few miles east from here or they could turn west and push forth through the trees of the Wolfswood in the way they had come.

"We could ride east and catch the Kingsroad shortly," Ashara told her brother pointing to the green plains. "Or we could turn back around and ride back the way we came." She pointed to the Wolfswood behind them.

Arthur looked to both the ways she pointed, the green plains first and then to the brown wall made by the tree trunks of the Wolfswood. "The kingsroad is fine with me." 

They urged their horses east, keeping a gentle pace this time. They crossed the fields and into the farmlands nearing the kingsroad. The rainfall decreased gradually as they moved east and stopped finally much to Arthur's pleasure. Dark clouds gave way to the sun and but the sky was still more grey than blue. Ashara rode together with her brother enjoying the green farmlands around them, the grass still wet with the rain with dew drops on the ends shimmering in the sunlight like diamonds.

They found the kingroad soon and turned south along the road with the green grasslands spanning along both the east and the west as far as she could see. The sight filled Ashara with joy and she wanted nothing more than to run in the plains barefoot. They crossed stone bridges with narrow rivers running underneath. Small farms spread in rings around holdfasts walled in wood and stone.

The road was well trafficked. Ashara saw farmers moving with carts of apples, and sacks of grains. Most gave them a fixed stare as the sight of a lovely lady with a white knight was not so familiar for them. Ashara bought a dozen apples from a man and gave one for Arthur, one for his warhorse, one for her courser and took one for herself. They munched on the apple, recalling their past, laughing and talking all the way back.

It was past midday when they reached Winter Town. The sun had come to the west. The market square lay just outside the walls of the castle, its wooden stalls deserted now. They rode down the muddy streets of the village, past rows of small neat houses of log and undressed stone. Less than one in five were occupied, thin tendrils of woodsmoke curling up from their chimneys. The rest would fill up one by one as it grew colder. When the snow fell and the ice winds howled down out of the north, Old Nan said, farmers left their frozen fields and distant holdfasts, loaded up their wagons, and then the winter town came alive. Ashara had never seen it happen, she hoped she never will.

A few villagers eyed them as they rode past, stopping the works they were doing. They bent the knee when they saw her, and Ashara greeted each of them with a gentle nod and a lively smile. She gave the remaining apples she had for the children running around there. The children gave her wide smiles, blades of grass and wild flowers in return for the apples and Ashara accepted all of them with a graceful smile.

A serving wench stood beneath the sign of the Smoking Log, the local alehouse. When Ashara stopped before the alehouse the woman dropped to one knee before her. Arthur helped her dismount and Ashara moved up to the alehouse. "Lady Ashara," the woman said from one knee when she approached.

"Rise," Ashara told her and the woman stood up. Two girls no more than four stood behind her. Ashara called them near and gave the last two of her apples to both of them. The girls got the apples from the hands and looked up at her. Ashara caressed their cheeks with the back of her hand and found herself remembering her son. She had wanted to bring Andrew with her but he was too young and even rain as pleasant as the one she had seen today was dangerous to her little boy. One day she would bring him here though, with Ned and Arthur to watch him ride.

She followed the nubile woman into the alehouse with her brother behind her. The common room was long and drafty, with a row of huge wooden kegs at one end and a fireplace at the other. A serving wench ran back and forth with skewers of meat while another drew beer from the kegs.

Most of the benches were free, but some were filled with the townsfolk and farmers and other travelers. Everyone stood up at once when they saw her. "Lady Stark," they said in unison and dropped to one knee.

Ashara looked around the room. "Get up," she told them. "My brother and I were just looking for some fresh food to have. Let us not ruin your merriment. Get up and enjoy your food."

She moved from her place when they carried on whatever they were doing. Arthur found them an empty place on the bench near the window. A serving girl of some three or four years her elder came scurrying up. She laid trenchers of bread before them and filled them with chunks of browned meat off a skewer, dripping with hot juice. Another plate held two roasted duck breasts. Ashara smiled at the girl. The girl replied with a smile of her own and spent a little too much time looking at her brother. Arthur missed to see her looks but Ashara did.

The girl moved away from the table. Ashara watched her as she took their wine from the other woman after some talk between them. Ashara chuckled at that. Arthur looked up at her with a piece of bread and a chunk of meat in his mouth. "What?"

Ashara leaned forward across the table towards him. "Looks like someone here is fancying you," she said lightly to her brother.  
Her brother stopped chewing and looked at her, confused. Ashara chuckled at him and pointed towards the girl who was coming towards them with their wines and a pretty smile on her face.

Arthur looked at the girl and the girl's smile widened. Her brother turned his head down and rolled his eyes at her.

The girl placed their wine cups on the table, shooting another glance at her brother. Ashara could swear that she could see a faint blush in her brother's cheeks. He tugged his white cloak closer and kept his look down on his food.

Ashara looked up at the girl suppressing a giggle. She was pretty and had a wild beauty to her. Her thick strawberry blond hair framed her face as wild and free as a fine courser's mane. Though she seemed a few years older than her and around Arthur's age she was no woman, no more than Ashara was. She could see that in the way the girl blushed at the sight of her brother.

"What is your name?" Ashara asked the girl.

The girl turned her head quickly towards her. "Dalla, milady."

"Dalla," Ashara voiced it once. It sounded pretty. "Well, thank you, Dalla."

Ashara smiled when the girl turned her attention back to her brother, wondering what Arthur would think of this girl staring at him. A twisted thought crossed her mind. "Arthur, won't you thank Dalla for her service to us?"

Her brother looked up at her and then to the girl. He still had his grim face on and looked between her and Dalla. Ashara chuckled lightly looking at him.

"Thank you," Arthur said solemnly and Dalla left the table with a broad grin on her face.

Throughout their meal, Dalla passed their table for about half a hundred times and it took a great deal of effort for Ashara to stop herself from laughing out loud. Arthur kept it easy for him, acting as if he was not aware of the girl fluttering around him like a moth to a fire.

When they finally paid their coins and got out of the alehouse, Arthur called after her. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Ashara asked smiling to herself, exactly aware of what he was asking about.

"That thing you did in there," Arthur said as he lifted her onto her horse.

"Oh, that," Ashara looked down at her brother. "That was nothing." 

"Nothing?" Arthur cocked his head at her and mounted his horse.

Ashara smiled sweetly at her brother. "You know, Arthur," she told her brother, "Sometimes I do think that you deserve more than that white cloak."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe." Whether he looked at the inn or at his white cloak she could not say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashara and Arthur having a good time. 
> 
> So I've been working on the Harrenhal one shot that I've always wanted to write(the one I promised to write after the one shot with Ned and Ashara in the Three Sisters) featuring Ned and Ashara for the past few days and I've got to admit that it has gotten a bit longer than I originally planned it to be. At the moment I've gotten well over 7k words and still hasn't yet finished it. So I need your help here. I plan to extend the one shot to a multi chaptered story (maybe some six or seven chapters or more) just to flesh out the relationship between our wolf and star and make them a more compelling couple rather than just going with the love at first sight. So would you like to see that kind of story or would you have me just stick with the one shot. Both are fine with me and I just want your preference. If you want to read a complete Harrenhal era fic, I'm more than willing to extend it or if you want just the one shot I'll leave it at that right with the great scandal of Ned and Ash (possibly with two chapters since it's getting too big to be one.) So it's your choice. Let me know what you want to read. Thank you and have a nice day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like, I owe you guys an apology for the long break. Truth be told, the last couple of months haven't been great for me and to top all that, I broke my hand which prevented me from having my normal routine. I'm feeling better now and my hand has gotten back to the normal state which means I'll be back to writing more soon enough. If you are still sticking with me and my stories, I'm very much grateful for the faith and interest you kept in me. So thank you.

**_Eddard_ **

The Great Hall was still lit in the light of the candles and torches when Ned came to have his dinner. He had the entire hall for his own when he reached it in the late night. His duties had pushed him so long into the night that Ned went on with it without any food.

They gave him a tankard of brown ale and a plate filled with a duck's breast, three duck's eggs fried in drippings, a strip of bacon, two sausages and a loaf of bread. The bread had gone cold with the time but it served him enough. He ate the bread and half an egg. He took a bite of the bacon too and took a long gulp of the ale.

"What are you doing up so late?" A voice came from behind. Ned turned back to look at him.

"I could ask the same of you," he replied. Ser Arthur walked to him dressed in his purest whites. For once Ned saw him without his armor or his white sword on.

"I was with my nephew," his goodbrother told him as he took a seat beside him. "Ashara asked me to entertain him for the night. It is an easy job, keeping your son calm, unlike the other babes. I had thought that you would be with Ashara."

I would've, if it was not for the letters. Lord Manderly had started the task of building the northern fleet and it meant Ned to write letters to Lord Umber and Lord Glover to transport woods from the woods surrounding their lands. He had allowed them to cut a certain number of trees from the Wolfswood near Winterfell as well. The works had started slow but he was happy that it started. "I was occupied with some important duties," he said.

"Hmm." Arthur Dayne poured himself a glass of wine. "How is life as the Lord of Winterfell?" 

Trouble is the lord of Winterfell's lot, Ned might have said. His life was giving him plenty, as it happened, and the letters were the least of it. He heard troublesome talks from the south. It was wise to stay prepared all time. And there is the trouble of the wildlings in the north too. He believed it will come to bloodshed someday. There were nights when Eddard Stark wondered if he had not made a grievous mistake by doing all the things he did.

"New and hard," Ned told him. "Thankfully I have Ashara to help me out." 

His goodbrother chuckled at that. "You are a wise man, Lord Stark," he told him sipping his wine. "Ashara is a brilliant woman. Most just never care to look beneath her beauty." 

Most, but not me. Ned had always found his wife sweet and kind and quick of wit. He always welcomed whatever counsels she had. The building of fleet had been her idea, the extension of glass gardens, the support for the folks around Winterfell, all had been hers. For all the wonderings about it, he still thanked the gods for giving Ashara to him. 

"I'm glad to see her with you, Lord Stark," Ser Arthur said. "She is happy here. I've never seen Ashara so happy, not since..." he trailed off and took another drink from his wine cup. 

Ned knew what he was telling about. The memory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. It was the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. He could see the deep green of the grass, and smell the pollen on the wind. Warm days and cool nights and the sweet taste of wine. He remembered Brandon's laughter, and Robert's berserk valor in the melee, the way he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right. He remembered Ashara's beauty, so bright that the stars blinked as they watched her carefully, jealous of the way she shone. He remembered Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armor, kneeling on the grass in front of the king's pavilion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys. Afterward, Ser Oswell Whent helped Jaime to his feet, and the White Bull himself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, fastened the snowy cloak of the Kingsguard about his shoulders. All six White Swords were there to welcome their newest brother.

Yet when the jousting began, the day belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. The crown prince's armor gleamed in the sun: a gleaming black plate with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume of scarlet silk streamed behind him when he rode, and it seemed no lance could touch him. Brandon fell to him, and Bronze Yohn Royce, and even the splendid Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

Robert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circled the field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion's crown. Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.

It had come to Ashara to comfort him in his grief and the next day he had married her in the godswood of Harrenhal. He had hoped that he was the only man who had dishonored himself and had made mistakes in Harrenhal. But he had the wrong of it. More mistakes followed it soon after. Grave mistakes, terrible mistakes and horrible mistakes which led them all to where they are now. Brandon and father in the grave, Lyanna in the south, Princess Elia and her children burnt to a pile of ash and him in the Lord of Winterfell's chair. 

"You would do well to keep her happy, Lord Stark," said Ser Arthur Dayne. 

Ned took a bite from the egg. "Since when did you start to care for her so deeply?" 

Ser Arthur looked at him plainly. "I've always loved Ashara and cared for her."

"But have you ever tried to show her that you love her?" Ned asked him. "Atleast something to show her that you care?" 

Silence was the reply he got and Ned continued, "Ashara told me that you would come back to stop it all." He looked at straight at the eyes of the Sword of the Morning. In the candlelight they were almost dark. "That you'll come back with Lyanna and stop it all. Where were you then?"

"Everyone has a duty to do and an oath to keep, Lord Stark." 

"Your oaths and honor," Ned told him, chuckling lightly. "Is that what you tell yourself when you remember Princess Elia? And the children, the family you swore to protect?" 

Ser Arthur glared at him but Ned could swear that he saw a glint of guilt and sadness in his eyes. "I have done mistakes," he told him. "But I'm a different man now. Bound to the same old life, yes, but a different man. And know that I've always loved Ashara more than I've ever loved anyone." 

"I have no doubt of that," Ned told him. "But you would do good to show her that you do. You told me that you've never seen her so happy but I tell you, I've never seen her much happier than the day she got your letter." He nodded at his goodbrother's look of disbelief. "I never wanted to send the word of Andrew's birth to King's Landing. I knew how they'll see it. But it made her happy. She missed you, all of your family, especially after the death of your parents."

"Ashara," Ser Arthur chuckled. "Always caring for others. She slapped me for what happened to the princess, you know." His goodbrother gave him a smile. "You're right, Lord Stark. I might have been a bit away my sister after I came to King's Landing but make no mistake I have not forgotten her. I'll remember what you said today, Lord Stark. Thank you." 

He got up from the bench with his winecup in hand. "Now if you'll excuse me, I promised Ash that I'll take care of your son for the night and I intend to keep that promise because I'm not ready to get another slap." 

As he started to walk away, Ned suddenly remembered the question he had been wanting to ask him for days. "Ser Arthur," he called after his good brother. Arthur Dayne stopped by the door and turned to look at him. It was not a honorable thing to ask of but Ned knew he should. "How is she?" he asked at last. 

The Sword of the Morning looked surprised but quickly regained his composure. "She's good," he told him taking a sip of his wine. 

Ned nodded wondering if that was really true. 


	13. Chapter 13

_**Arthur** _

Ashara waited by the gate in the predawn cold, wrapped up in a heavy velvet cloak lined with golden fox fur. Beside her, her husband stood. The Lord of Winterfell was flanked by Martyn and Rodrik Cassel and the maester of Winterfell. A handful of guards in grey cloaks stood behind them. Their breath frosted in the cold black air.

It was so cold that day. A light snow had begun to fall, the big soft flakes drifting down lazily from the sky. Almost every day in the north was cold to Arthur Dayne. He belonged in the south, with the south and the warmth. He had fire in his veins unlike Lord Eddard Stark who stood in the cold as if he was made of ice. Even Ashara fared better than him in the cold. His sister had shone in the south and Arthur had never thought her to take to cold so easily like that.

North or south, the star shines everywhere Arthur thought with a smile as he tugged his white cloak closer.

"I told you not to trouble yourself in the morning," he said to his sister. "That's why I said my farewells yesterday."

"Do you have to leave so soon?" Ashara asked paying no mind to what he said. When has she ever listened to what I have to say.

"I have to, Ash," Arthur told her packing up his saddlebags. "I've already lingered long enough. Now duty calls." He looked up at her and gave a smile. His sister's joy curdled in her face. Arthur walked to her and put his palm at her cheek, flushed red in the cold. "This is not farewell, little sister," he told her. "You have my word. I will come back to see you and watch your son grow." He brushed off the tear that slipped from her violet eyes and kissed her forehead. He knew that it was not wholly true but it served to make her smile. 

Ashara had brought her son with her as well. Arthur got his nephew from his sister's arms and cradled him against the white plate of his armor gently. It felt like only days before he had held Ashara is his arms for the first time. His mother had placed his little sister in his small arms slightly afraid that he might drop the child. But Arthur had swore to himself that day that he would never drop her and will always protect her. Time has gone so quickly now that he couldn't believe he held his sister's son in his arms. Though a wife and mother, Ashara was still his little sister. And it pained him to leave her yet again.

Andrew was awake amidst his furs looking up at him with wide grey eyes. The child was bundled up in soft velvets and rich furs. "Hello, little one," he smiled at the babe. "Don't give too much trouble to your mom. Grow up big and strong and make her proud." Andrew made a low noise and squirmed in his arm. He smiled at the child and caressed the tuft of black hair upon his head, so much like his sister's. His nephew smiled when a snowflake landed on his head. Arthur pulled up his little hood to cover him from the snows and handed the infant back to his mother. Ashara put him to her breast and looked up at him. 

"You have sufficient food?"

He had more than enough. The saddlebags of his horse was bulged with cheese and sausages and hard-cooked eggs, and half a salted ham that the cook of Winterfell had prepared for him. It looked as if Ashara had ordered her cooks to keep him fed for the entire journey to Castle Black and then back to King's Landing.

"Hard bread, hard cheese, oat cakes, eggs, salt cod, salted ham, salt beef, salt mutton, and a skin of sweet wine to rinse all that salt out of my mouth. I will not die of hunger, little sister."

Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. Ashara threw her arm tight around his neck, holding her son firmly in her other hand. "I'll miss you, Arthur," she said, her breath catching in her throat. "I will miss everyone."

Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around her. "I'll miss you too, little sister." He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. "We'll meet again soon. Maybe Rhaegar will need more scrolls. Who knows?" 

The snow came down around them. Arthur lingered beside his sister and eyed Eddard Stark. "Lord Stark," he said, "farewell." He extended his arm out.

"And to you, Ser Arthur," said his goodbrother, clasping his hand in a strong grip.

Arthur watched his sister and moved closer to Ned Stark. "Take good care of my sister," he said in a quiet tone only that Stark could hear it. "I don't know when we will meet again but I hope to see her happy. Take care of her and your son."

"I will," Stark told him. "So do you, Ser. Take care of yourself. Have a swift, safe voyage, and remember what I told you." Ned Stark smiled a strange, sad smile. "And pull your hood up. The snowflakes are melting in your hair."

_**Rhaegar** _

By midnight, the castle was silent and dark. The gold cloaks on the walls bowed their heads when they spied him leaving his solar, but no one raised a voice. He was the King now, and where he went was his own affair. There was no one to spy on him, no one to complain him to his father.

The thin wooden door split with a thunderous crack beneath the heel of Viserys's boot. Pieces went flying inward, and Rhaegar heard a woman’s gasp of fear. Ser Derek hacked the door apart with three great blows of his axe and kicked his way through the ruins. Viserys followed, and then the king, stepping over the splinters followed by Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers, and shadows lay thick across the bedchamber. When Darkfang ripped the heavy curtains off the bed, the naked serving girl stared up with wide white eyes. “Please, your grace,” she pleaded, “don’t hurt me.” She cringed away from Darkfang, flushed and fearful, trying to cover her charms with her hands and coming up a hand short.

“Go,” Rhaegar told her. “It’s not you we want.”

“Aye,” Viserys repeated. "The only woman I want is in the north."

When Rhaegar eyed his brother, Viserys had a sulking look about him. He did not come here to get into another argument with Viserys. He came here to make the changes he should've made long before. The sooner it is done the better.

Rhaegar turned to his kingsguard. "Ser Barristan, see her out gently if you would."

The knight helped the girl from the bed and walked her across the chamber. Ser Barristan took her from the door and left her away beyond the shattered door and out into the hall. Above their heads, the ravens were screeching.

Rhaegar dragged the soft blanket off the bed, uncovering Grand Maester Pycelle beneath. “Tell me, does the Citadel approve of you bedding the serving wenches, Maester?”

The old man was as naked as the girl, though he made a markedly less attractive sight. For once, his heavy-lidded eyes were open wide. “W-what is the meaning of this? I am an old man, your grace, your loyal servant…”

Rhaegar sat himself onto the chair beside the bed. “So loyal that you sent words from King's Landing to Lord Lannister in Casterly Rock.”

“N-no,” squealed Pycelle. “No, a falsehood, I swear it. I would never do it.”

“Do all maesters lie so poorly?" Rhaegar told the old man and threw a scroll at his face. "I learned very much from you so as to make out your writing, Pycelle. No one in this castle has the need to send that letter to Lord Tywin and I only entrusted you with that false truth you wrote in that letter to Lord Tywin.”

Pycelle clutched for a corner of the blanket. “Trust me, your grace. I would never do such a thing. I might know about sorceries with which secrets and messages can be stolen. Things that would chill your blood...”

“I'm a Targaryen, Pycelle," the King told him. "Fire is in my blood."

“Your Grace, Varys, the Spider wields this vile sorceries. He…”

“I know all about Varys. Infact it was Varys who told me about your secret messages."

Rhaegar nodded at Ser Derek. Darkfang leapt forward, dagger in hand. Pycelle shrieked and tried to scramble back out of reach. Darkfang caught him by the end of his billowy white beard and hacked off clean from his chin with a single slash of the dagger.

“Viserys, do you suppose our friend will be more forthcoming without those whiskers to hide behind?” Rhaegar asked his brother.

“He will tell the truth soon.” Viserys' lilac eyes were black in the dark. “I can make him spill it all out.”

He walked to the bed, and seized the Maester by his remaining whiskers and put a blade at his throat.

“Have you seen your blood before, Pycelle?” his brother said indignantly, pressing the blade under Pycelle’s quivering chin.

“How long have you been spying for Lord Tywin?” Rhaegar asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about, your grace," Pycelle shivered. "I am innocent."

The fool still hopes to deceive me. If he wants to take the hard road I'll gladly bring him through it.

"Ser Derek," Rhaegar called Darkfang. "Could you please bring the Grandmaester back to his senses."

"With pleasure, your grace," Darkfang said and put his boot on Pycelle's bare foot and crushed it.

Pycelle’s breathing was rapid and shallow. “All I did, I did for survival.” A sheen of sweat covered the broad dome of the old man’s brow, and wisps of white hair clung to his wrinkled skin. “Always… for years… Lord Tywin, he threatened to kill me…”

His lies were making the king angry. “When did Lord Tywin threated to have you killed?” Rhaegar asked him. "Can you hear his threats from Casterly Rock?" Rage boiled inside him. "Did you tell him about the day King's Landing fell? Did you tell him about Elia and the children as well?"

"No. I never..."

“How many time have you betrayed me, I wonder? Did you betray my father as well? Where does it begin, Pycelle?” He knew where it ended.

The dagger scratched at the apple of Pycelle’s throat and stroked the soft wobbly skin under his jaw, scraping away the last hairs. “You… were not here,” he gasped when the blade moved upward to his cheeks. “I've always been a loyal man to your father…”

“As you were loyal to me?”

“I've always served you faithfully.”

“Spare me your lies,” Rhaegar told him. "Did you poison my mother as well?"

“Queen Rhaella,” Pycelle said. “I would never… She lost too much blood in the birth...”

“And if she hadn't you would've done it,” snapped Rhaegar, anger flaring out of him. "Did you poison Elia as well? Is that why she couldn't bear anymore children? Was it even the truth or was it another one of your lies?"

“No.” Pycelle struggled feebly. Viserys growled and grabbed his head.

Rhaegar tsked at him. “What did you hope to achieve by sending word about killing Lord Stark's son?”

“A falsehood!”

“Shave him closer,” Rhaegar suggested. “The throat again.”

The dagger swept back down, rasping over the skin. A thin film of spit bubbled on Pycelle’s lips as his mouth trembled. “I never tried to harm anyone. I vow—”

“Careful now, Viserys, you’ve cut him.”

When he felt the blood trickling down his neck and onto his chest, the old man shuddered, and the last strength went out of him. He looked shrunken, both smaller and frailer than he had been when they burst in on him. “I never wanted to send it,” he whimpered, “I thought it was true. I thought you wanted to kill him.” The old man wept. “It would've forced Lord Stark to march south. It meant war.”

It meant destruction, Rhaegar knew. He was glad the message was intercepted before it fell in wrong ears. He held no ill wish for Lord Stark's son. He just needed such an important word to get Pycelle into action and the fool fell in his trap. Now everything could be as normal as it was. 

He was disgusted at Pycelle. “Bind him and take him away,” he commanded. “Throw him down in one of the black cells. We'll send a raven to the Citadel tomorrow and ask for a new maester.”

They dragged him out the splintered door.

When he was gone, Rhaegar made a leisurely search of the quarters and collected a few more small jars from his shelves. The ravens muttered above his head as he worked, a strangely peaceful noise. He would need to find someone to tend the birds until the Citadel sent a man to replace Pycelle.

He was the one I’d hoped to trust. The king had changed most of his father's men from the court and replaced them with his own. Varys and Littlefinger were no more loyal, he suspected… only more subtle, and thus more dangerous. With Pycelle gone there was one less headache for him. Perhaps his father’s way would have been best: summon the pyromancers and burn all of them.


	14. Chapter 14

_**** _

_**Eddard** _

  
He dreamt an old dream, of the Red Keep, and burnt bodies, and the people with crowns upon their head.  
  
In the dream his wife and friends stood with him, as they had in life. Ashara, his wife; Robert his friend who was more like a brother; Jon Arryn, the man who had been his second father; Lord Tully, who had lost his daughter with Brandon; and the bannermen who held the stag, wolf, falcon and trout banners. He even saw the bones of his father and brother waiting in the corner to go back home.   
  
They were five, facing two, the one's wearing the crowns that he found it so hard to recognize them here. Even in life he had not recognized them just as easily. They waited before the monstrosity they called the Iron Throne, the dragon skulls watching them from the red walls, guarded by the kingsguard with their white cloaks blowing in the wind. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a sad smile on his lips. The hilt of the greatsword Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. Ser Oswell Whent stood as if he was carved from stone. Across his white-enameled helm, the black bat of his House spread its wings. Between them stood fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Barristan the Bold flanked the Sword of the Morning while Ser Jon Darry and young Jaime Lannister took Ser Oswell's side. Lewyn Martell was not there. In the dream as it had been in life. They stood between them and the people with crowns, creating a white wall to separate both the groups.

One by one the lords knelt before the new king and then came his time. He looked at the bones of his father and brother and tried to get away. No matter how hard he tried he could not get himself move from there.

He found himself kneeling before the king now, swearing the oaths he'd once sworn a year before. "I promise to be faithful and loyal to Rhaegar, King of the Andals, First Men and Rhoynar," Ned said, "to never again bear arms against him or his. . . heirs. Let the gods, Old and New, bear witness and help me to keep my vows till my death." 

The king gave him a dark smile. "Lord Stark," he called him, "your father was a good and honorable man. What happened to him was not just and dishonorable. You fought well to bring justice but not always on the right side. I welcome your renewed fealty, and accept your surrender." He looked over to the High Septon watching over everything with a crystal crown atop his head. "Is that all?"

"Yes, sire," the high septon answered.

Rhaegar looked down at them from the steps of his Iron Throne. "My lords of Stormlands, the North, the Vale and Riverlands, today you have each pledged fealty to me as you rightful overlord. Any lands confiscated during this conflict will now be returned to you. I hope you see the futility of your opposition and crimes against House Targaryen and accept responsibility for the bloodshed that could have been avoided."

One by one the his friends were called forward and their fate was decided by the king. Ned waited for his time as he had once waited. When his name was called by the herald, he knelt down before the iron throne.

Rhaegar gave him a sullen glance. "Lord Eddard Stark, you're hereby named as the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North and you'll take up your father's role and duty. However for House Stark and the north's crimes against the crown, the iron throne will receive it's due in taxes and to keep you from rebelling again," he raised his right arm and the castle changed around him. Blood soaked walls took the place of red bricks and his father and brother were alive in the corner, Lord Rickard in his burnt armor and Brandon, his once handsome face had gone black and there was a deep purple circle around his throat where the strangler had choked his life out. No, this did not happen that day. He turned around and saw Robert and Jon dead, Benjen and his people dead. The world burnt and bled around him. Creatures from dark and deep were all around him. "Your son's life will be taken," he finished. 

He could hear Ashara screaming behind him. "Ned!" she called. He turned around and saw a shadow holding a black knife at Ashara's throat. Before them another one held his little son in his hand, a sword raised above him coming down quickly for his son. 

Ned found himself trapped to the floor. He pushed and pulled but he couldn't move from his place. He tried to talk and shout, to do something. . . anything but he couldn't. 

"No," Ashara shrieked when the sword finally came down. She burst into a storm of rose petals as violet as those haunting eyes of hers. 

"No," he managed to say once his wife and son were gone. 

"Ned," Ashara called again

"Ash," he whispered to her. "I'll keep him safe. I'll keep you both safe." 

"Ned," her voice echoed from the dark. 

Groaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of his chambers.

"Ned," she looked down at him from his chest, safe in his arms.   
  
"Ash?" The sheets were tangled about his legs entwined with hers.  
  
"Ned?" Her voice was soothing the ache in his heart. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Just a dream."

Ashara sat up in the bed. "It's that dream again, isn't it?" Her eyes were haunted and her voice thick with doubt.   
  
Ned nodded. He looked to the cradle beside there bed. He wondered if Andrew is safe in it somehow remembering the dream. "I feel as if I failed them, Ash. Them and everyone. I came back with their bones but not with justice."  
  
"What you did, you did for the right thing," she said. "You did it for peace and there is nothing wrong to it."   
  
Ned sighed. "But it didn't help anyone in any way though. They are not happy, Ash. This thing with the taxes is biting the head off of everyone."

He knew that for sure. None of the highlords and smallfolk alike were happy with the heavy taxes issued on them. That had been the justice Rhaegar had given him for the murders of his father and brother and his brother's wife. The increase in taxes are four times the number which had been in his father's rule. It was supposed to continue for a year long. One year has passed and there were no ravens from King's Landing to say that their punishment is over.   
  
"I know," Ashara climbed from the bed. She padded across the room and shrugged into a dressing gown. "We'll deal with it together. I'll meet the lords with you when we collect the taxes today."  
  
"No," Ned said gravely. "I don't want you to trouble yourself with it. I'll deal with it."  
  
Ashara laughed as she took Andrew from the cradle. "Ned, as you can see, I'm not so big with child to make anything troublesome for myself," she said. "Stop worrying about things which are not happening, my lord."

He remembered red walls soaked with blood, the storm of violet roses, the sword coming for his son.

"I don't want you to get into my mistakes, Ash," he tried again.   
  
Ashara got up from the chair from where she was nursing their babe and came to him in his bed. Her right hand was holding Andrew to her breast and she cupped his cheek with her left. "Do you remember our wedding night?"

"Of course, I do." Ned laughed.

"Not that," Ashara chuckled. "What you told me after that?"   
  
"Can we do it again?" he said, smiling.

Ashara blushed prettily. She gazed at him intently in silence but then gave in with a laugh. "After that?"

"I'm yours and you are mine," he said.   
  
"Yes," she nodded. "I'm yours and you are mine. I'll tell this to you again, Ned. I'll be with you always and in whatever you do." She kissed him and Ned kissed her back. Ashara pulled away when he deepened the kiss. He would've rolled her onto her back and had her once before the start of the day if she was not feeding Andrew.

"Will you hold him?" she asked as she rocked the babe.

Ned got his son from her and held him gingerly in his hands. He was still not so sure about the ways to treat a babe but holding his son in his arms always filled him with joy and sense of wonder.

"How many lords are yet to come with the taxes?" she asked Ned.   
  
He thought about it as she rocked their son. "Most of them has paid," Ned said to her, "The ones away will arrive today, I believe. The Umbers from Last Hearth and Mormonts from Bear Island. It'll be quite a work today."

"We'll figure this out, Ned," Ashara told him. "We'll weather this storm as we had done in the Bite." 

Only this is not a storm you could brave with boats and sails. He gave Andrew back to her when she left for her bath and to dress. 

By the time she came back to him all dressed up in a fine gown of pale blue velvet with a matching blue rose in her hair, as blue as frost, he was still pulling up his breeches.

"Bring me my doublet, if you would," he said to her. "The grey, with the direwolf sigil."  
  
Ashara kept Andrew on the bed and went to the wardrobe. "Did you hear anything from Lord Jon or Robert?"  
  
"The Stormlands is simmering." Ned told her. "To cast the line of Kings aside from the title of Lord Paramounts of the Stormlands has made them angry. It's a miracle Robert's keeping quiet about it but I don't think he'll go past Jon's words."   
  
Ashara held out the doublet, and Ned slid his hands through the armholes. "The Vale is not happy too. Without Elbert the succession for the Eyrie is at stake," he said as Ashara laced the garment up the back. "Unless Jon has a son Denys is the heir but they haven't forgotten Elbert yet."

"The Tully woman is sick, Ned," Ashara said. "It is a stroke of fortune if she keeps to her duty."

Ned buckled on his belt. "In other words, not bloody likely." His smile was grim.  
  
Ashara draped Ned's cloak across his shoulders and clasped it at the throat with the silver direwolf. "Though I can't fully fault her. Most young girls would act the way she did if they are in her place. Losing a child and all."  
  
Ned nodded. Most young girls but not her. Ashara was not like most girls. They had lost their first child before it could even take it's first breath. He looked over to his son lying quietly on the bed. It was during the harsh, cold time of a long night Andrew came as the first light of dawn and both of them loved him and cherished him more than any father or mother would love and cherish a child.

"May the gods grant them a strong son soon enough to keep Jon's rule stable," Ned sighed "Now, enough of that. Shall we go, my lady." 

Ashara picked Andrew up from the bed and they both walked to the great hall. 

They were halfway with breaking their fast when the blast of horns indicated the arrival of visitors. Ned pushed himself up from his stone seat and looked down at Ashara beside him. "You stay here. I'll receive them." He pressed a kiss to her temple and walked out the great hall to the yard. He heard horses and boisterous shouting. The Umbers, he thought, and half-drunk by the noise of them. He stood in the yard, flanked by Maester Walys, Martyn Cassel and Ser Rodrick. On their banner was a giant in shattered chains which proved him that they were indeed the Umbers, down from the northlands beyond the Last River.

He saw the Greatjon climbing down from his great warhorse. Behind him came his uncles, blustery men in the winter of their days with beards as white as the bearskin cloaks they wore. A crow had once taken Mors for dead and pecked out his eye, so he wore a chunk of dragonglass in its stead. As Old Nan told the tale, he'd grabbed the crow in his fist and bitten its head off, so they named him Crowfood. His gaunt brother Hother was called Whoresbane. He had a story for himself as to how he got the name. Hother's father, Lord Hoarfrost had believed his youngest son had the making of a maester and sent him to study at the Citadel. While in Oldtown a whore had tried to rob him, so the young Hother had disemboweled the whore, earning him the nickname "Whoresbane." The story is told in whispers because it was said that the whore was a man. Ned had no interest in knowing if the whore was a man or a woman and he never troubled himself with the story. 

"Lord Umber," Ned greeted the Greatjon. 

"Lord Stark," the Greatjon bowed his head. "As you know, these are my uncles, Mors and Hother Umber." 

"My lords," Ned greeted them equally. "Welcome to Winterfell."

He had them sit with him in the high table. No sooner had they been seated the Umbers asked for the wine. Ned ordered the servants to serve them food and wine. They are and drank merrily from his table. "We were promised that our penalty in taxes would be lifted after one year, my lord?" the Greatjon asked, more of a statement than a question.

"There's been no word from King's Landing, my lord," Ned said. "Until we hear something, we are expected to pay our due."

Hother had some news of wildling attacks. "There's wildlings stealing down from the north, more than I've ever seen before. They cross the Bay of Seals in little boats and wash up on our shores. The crows in Eastwatch are too few to stop them, and they go to ground quick as weasels. It's longships we need, aye, and strong men to sail them."

Ned could feel cold stone against his fingers as he leaned forward. Beneath both his palms were a head of a direwolf, snarling. "I mentioned this matter with the riders I sent to you. You have forests of tall pine and old oak. Lord Manderly has shipwrights and sailors in plenty. Together you ought to be able to float enough longships to guard both your coasts."

"Manderly?" Mors Umber snorted. "That great waddling sack of suet? His own people mock him as Lord Lamprey, I've heard. The man can scarce walk. If you stuck a sword in his belly, ten thousand eels would wriggle out."

"He is fat," Ned admitted, "but he is not stupid. You will work with him, or I will hear the reason why." It relieved him to see the Umbers agree to his command with a deep laugh.

While they were sitting at audience, the Glover men arrived from Deepwood Motte, and a large party of Tallharts from Torrhen's Square. Galbart Glover led the men from Deepwood Motte and Leobald Tallhart was at the head of the Tallhart men. Everyone with more chests than they'd brought during the time of his father's rule. 

Lord Glover didn't have any big issue to discuss other than the heavy tax.

Leobald Tallhart had his turn after him. He wished to see Andrew first. Ned could see a hint of gladness in his pale blue eyes when Ashara showed him the babe. He gave a gentle smile to Ashara and then spoke of weather portents and the slack wits of smallfolk. Ned asked him about his young nephew, Beren, son of Lord Helman and was pleased to know that the boy is doing good. 

The Cerwyns whose castle lay a half day's ride from Winterfell came by the evening. Lord Cerwyn had come with a dozen lances and was much interested in meeting his son as he was at the Harvest feast. Lord Cerwyn's own son had been born only some moonturns before Andrew's birth. Ned asked for his well-being and answered him warmly about the taxes.

Finally all of the principal vassals of House Stark had paid their taxes by the evening save for the Mormonts of the Bear Island. When the last light died out in the west sky and the stars appeared overhead the party from Bear Island arrived with Lady Maege Mormont at the head with her daughter Dacey beside her. 

Ned greeted them in the great hall with all the lords who had come that day around him. Five heavy chests were brough in, each carried by a couple of men all with the black bear of House Mormont stiched upon their surcoat and placed it on the table before him. 

Lady Mormont and her daughter stepped forward and bowed their head. "Lord Stark." 

"My lady," Ned greeted them both. Both Lady Maege and her daughter were dressed in a ringmail. 

"We were told that this would stop by the end of last year, my lord," Maege Mormont said. 

"So did I, my lady," Ned told her. "But the Red Keep is silent in the matter."

"If they are quiet about it, we should ask them, my lord," Dacey Mormont said. She was a child woman, Ned observed. No older than sixteen but still tall for her age. Even at the young age she was fierce and graceful even with her tall frame, Ned saw. He ought not be surprised, Mormont women are all fierce though. 

"Unlike other houses, House Mormont does not possess rich lands, my lord," Maege said again. "We had a hard time providing money last year and to continue it this year is not so easy for us." 

Ned knew that for sure. The Mormonts are an old house with a proud and honorable reputation. They are one of the principal families sworn to House Stark. It was Rodrik Stark, one of the Stark kings of old who had given Bear Island to the Mormonts after winning the isle in a wrestling match from a dirftwood king of the ironborn. The Mormonts' lands were cold and harsh. Though one of the staunchest supporters of House Stark, the Mormonts are a rather poor house due to Bear Island's lack of valuable resources. He could only imagine how hard it would've been for them to put together the huge sum. 

He was about to tell them that he would ask Rhaegar Targaryen about it when Ashara stood up from her seat. "You don't have you pay the extras, " she said. "Just pay your usual due."

"Ash?" Ned turned to look at her. 

"What?" Ashara asked. "They are right, Ned. This is uncalled for. We can't just go on dancing for the tune of the Targaryens. We stayed true to our word and put up with their injustice for a year. Now doing it again and again is an injustice we do to our own people." 

Ned could feel the unease in the hall, as high lords and servants alike strained to listen. He could not pretend to surprise. He always knew Ashara would have something to say about it and it came now before everyone. 

"Aye," the Greatjon boomed. "Why should we go along with the dragon shit? Why should we care about what the silver shit thinks?"

"Our vows to them ended with last year, my lord," Galbart Glover said. "If they don't even care to talk about it to us, why should we care about them?" 

"That may be right, my lady," Maester Walys said to Ashara, "but it will bring unnecessary problems from the south. It'll disturb the peace." 

"Why should it?" Ashara asked the maester. She turned and looked at all the lords and ladies around them. "We've honored our words, haven't we? We've done nothing wrong to be punished in the first place. We don't have to pay them four times the money just because we chose to defend ourselves. They are the ones who wronged us. They ought to pay us the price for the wrongs they've done to us. To continue with this and pay them four times this year and the years to come, we'll not survive the first winter that hits us. The north owe them none and none shall they get from the north." Ashara looked at Lady Maege and Dacey and tapped on a single chest placed on the table before them. "This one chest is enough. You can take the rest back with you." His wife gave them a smile. Ned could see the happiness in the face of the Mormont women which wasn't there when they arrived here. 

Looking at Ashara, he found it somewhere in him to say it himself. "Maester Walys, " he called. "Check the numbers and return the extras back to the lords."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the North has taken enough of Rhaegar's shit and is standing up to the dragon. Who knows how the dragon would react? Hope you guys like this chapter. Leave a comment and let me know what you think. It really boosts me to write more.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Arthur** _

Are you certain that you must leave us so soon?" the Lord Commander asked him.  
  
"Past certain, Lord Mormont," Arthur replied. "My brothers will be wondering what has become of me. His grace will be expecting me. He may even decide that I had traded my white cloak for the black just to be with my sister in the north."

"Gods be good if lady Ashara would do that." Mormont picked up a crab claw and cracked it in his fist. Old as he was, the Lord Commander still had the strength of a bear. "You're a valiant man, Ser Arthur. We have need of men of your sort on the Wall."

Arthur grinned. "I hope you never have the need for men like me." They laughed. It was just a jape for them, he thought. They don't know. All they had heard of me were songs and stories but not of my failures, of Princess Elia and her children. 

He sucked the meat from a crab leg and reached for another. The crabs had arrived from Eastwatch only this morning, packed in a barrel of snow, and they were succulent. It had been a while since Arthur had tasted any food like that. The long journey from his sister's castle to the Wall had taken its toll.

Ser Alliser Thorne was the only man at table who did not so much as crack a smile. "Ser Arthur mocks us."  
  
"Why would I, Ser Alliser?" Arthur asked. "The watch has no need of me when brave men like you hold it."  
  
Thorne's black eyes fixed on Arthur with loathing. He walked out from the room stiffly.  
  
The Lord Commander took a sip from his wine. "I see that you have quite a history with our Ser Alliser," he said.  
  
Arthur took a sip of wine. "I know the man back from King's Landing."  
  
"Not so very well, I believe," said the Lord Steward, Bowen Marsh, a stout and round man. "He is a good master-at-arms to the new lads."  
  
Arthur had seen the main training new recruits and heard Ser Alliser name his recruits droll names. Ser Alliser Thorne may have some skill with a sword but he should be mucking out the stables, not drilling the young warriors who will hold the Wall. "I hope they are coming out of training better than those stableboys as they began."  
  
"The Watch has no shortage of stableboys," Lord Mormont grumbled. "That seems to be all they send us these days. Stableboys and sneak thieves and rapers. Ser Alliser is an anointed knight, one of the few to take the black since I have been Lord Commander. He fought bravely at King's Landing."  
  
"On the wrong side, as Ser Arthur know," Ser Jaremy Rykker commented dryly. "I was there on the battlements beside him. His Grace gave us a splendid option. Take the black, or see our heads on spikes before evenfall."  
  
"His Grace has learned the charm from his father."   
  
Lord Commander Mormont cleared his throat. "They say you are a close friend of the king, Ser Arthur."  
  
Arthur smiled grimly. "Was a friend of his grace. He is not so fond of the brother of the Lady of Winterfell." And I'm not so fond of him for what he did to his wife.  
  
"But we are so fond that you are here with us, Ser Arthur," Maester Aemon said from the far end of the table. He spoke softly, yet the high officers of the Night's Watch all fell quiet, the better to hear what the ancient had to say. "It is a noble cause that you are here at the end of the world."  
  
Ser Arthur answered gently, "Forgive me, my lord, but I'm here only because of the king's words."  
  
"Nonetheless," Maester Aemon said as his clouded, milk-white eyes moved to Arthur's face, watching him as he'd done the last night when he gave the scrolls that Rhaegar so desperately wanted, "I think it is true."  
  
Arthur bowed his head politely and said, "You are too kind, Maester Aemon."  
  
The blind man smiled. He was a tiny thing, wrinkled and hairless, shrunken beneath the weight of a hundred years so his maester's collar with its links of many metals hung loose about his throat. "Remember what I told you, Ser," he said.

Arthur accepted that with the same bow he'd made the last night.

Much later, when the serious business of eating was done and the others had left, Mormont offered Arthur a chair beside the fire and a cup of mulled spirits so strong they brought tears to his eyes. "Will you going back the way you came?" the Lord Commander told him as they drank.  
  
"I'll not take the Kingsroad back south," Arthur said, "I have spent a lot of time up here in the north. Will there be any ships at Eastwatch going south to King's Landing?"  
  
"I will send a raven to Cotter Pyke to lend you one," Mormont said gruffly. "One ship will not make any difference."  
  
"Thank you, my lord," Arthur said.  
  
Mormont frowned through his thick grey beard.

Arthur could see that he did not just want his gratitude. He wanted something more from him. "I hope I can repay your kindness."

"You can," Mormont said with a frown. "Your sister sits beside Lord Eddard. You are in good terms with the king. Speak to them for us. Tell them of our need here. You have seen for yourself, Ser. The Night's Watch is dying. Our strength is less than a thousand now. Six hundred here, two hundred in the ShadowTower, even fewer at Eastwatch, and a scant third of those fighting men. The Wall is a hundred leagues long. Think on that. Should an attack come, I have three men to defend each mile of wall."  
  
Mormont warmed his hands before the fire. "I am losing men continuously on the ranging. The numbers dwindling right down to make us even worse. Yet, I cannot keep ignoring the ranging for what is that we are worth if not for guarding the realm from evil things."  
  
"Evil," the raven agreed. Arthur glanced up. The bird peered down at him with those beady black eyes, ruffling its wings. "Evil," it called again.  
  
The Lord Commander took no notice of the curious bird. "And the ones that return bring dire news more often than not," he went on, "not a single good thing comes from the ranging. It's been moons since I heard anything good not to mention that I myself was chosen as the lord commander not so long ago." He sighed deeply. "The men I send, good men who knows the haunted forest better than anyone, get lost in the woods. And the ones go in search of them does not return as well. The Night's Watch has become an army of sullen boys and tired old men. Apart from the men at my table tonight, I have perhaps twenty who can read, and even fewer who can think, or plan, or lead. Once the Watch spent its summers building, and each Lord Commander raised the Wall higher than he found it. Now it is all we can do to stay alive."  
  
He was in deadly earnest, Arthur realized. He felt faintly embarrassed for the old man. Lord Mormont may have been new to the Wall but he was elected by his brothers to lead them and he needed to believe if those beliefs were to have any meaning. "I promise, I'll write to my sister to remember the Watch. The king will hear of your need," Arthur said gravely, "and I will speak to my goodbrother." And he would. The Sword of the Morning was as good as his word.

"You are a young man, Ser Arthur," Mormont said. "How many winters have you seen?"  
  
He shrugged. "Four, five. I misremember."  
  
"And all of them short."  
  
"As you say, my lord." Arthur had no much experience with winters in his life. He had been born in the bloom of a spring, and Ashara's had been in the dream of summer. He had lived his whole life mostly in summer.  
  
"When I was a boy, it was said that a long summer always meant a long winter to come. This false spring we experienced is the example of what is forthcoming. Think on that."  
  
"I will, my lord," Arthur replied. "The king will hear about your needs as well."  
  
The Lord Commander gave a sigh. "The days are growing shorter. There can be no mistake, Aemon has had letters from the Citadel, findings in accord with his own." Mormont reached out and clutched Arthur tightly by the hand. "You must make them understand. I tell you, ser, the darkness is coming. There are wild things in the woods, direwolves and mammoths and snow bears the size of aurochs, and I have seen darker shapes in my dreams."  
  
"My lord?" Arthur asked, confused.

"I did not wish for you to be here so that you could slay some more outlaws, ser," Mormont said. "Denys Mallister writes that the mountain people are moving south, slipping past the ShadowTower in numbers greater than ever before. They are running, ser . . . but running from what?" Lord Mormont moved to the window and stared out into the night. "Some of them made as far to reach Winterfell. I would never have believed it, but Lord Eddard sent me their heads from Winterfell. If it wasn't for your goodbrother, your king would've had wildlings in the heart of his kingdom. Tell the king what I say, I pray you. Winter is coming, and when the Long Night falls, only the Night's Watch will stand between the realm and the darkness that sweeps from the north. The gods help us all if we are not ready."

"You have my word, Lord Mormont. The king will hear of it. The Night's Watch will not stand alone." Arthur got to his feet, tired from wine and the talk. "I thank you for all the courtesies you have done me, Lord Mormont."  
  
"Make them believe of what I said, Ser Arthur. That is all the thanks I need." He whistled, and his raven flew to him and perched on his shoulder. Mormont smiled and gave the bird some corn from his pocket, and that was how Arthur left him.  
  
It was bitter cold outside. His white cloak billowed in the wind, flowing behind him like the swirling snows. Arthur pulled on his gloves and nodded to the good, poor frozen men standing sentry outside the Commander's Keep. He set off across the yard for his own chambers in the King's Tower, walking as briskly as his legs could manage. Patches of snow crunched beneath his feet as his boots broke the night's crust, and his breath steamed before him like a banner.   
  
Behind the King's Tower, the Wall glimmered in the light of the moon, immense and mysterious. Arthur stopped for a moment to look up at it. His legs ached of cold and haste.  
  
Suddenly a strange madness took hold of him, a yearning to look off the end of the world for once. It might be his last chance, he thought; tomorrow he would ride south, and it would not be likely that his king would sent him to the north again. The King's Tower was before him, with its promise of warmth and a soft bed, yet Arthur found himself walking past it, toward the vast pale palisade of the Wall.  
  
A wooden stair ascended the south face, anchored on huge rough-hewn beams sunk deep into the ice and frozen in place. Back and forth it switched, clawing its way upward as crooked as a bolt of lightning. The black brothers assured him that it was much stronger than it looked, but Arthur's legs were cramping too badly for him to even contemplate the ascent. He went instead to the iron cage beside the well, clambered inside, and yanked hard on the bell rope, three quick pulls.  
  
He had to wait what seemed an eternity, standing there inside the bars with the Wall to his back. The jerk the cage gave was sudden and it began to ascend.  
  
He moved upward slowly, by fits and starts at first, then more smoothly. The ground fell away beneath him, the cage swung, and Arthur wrapped his hands around the iron bars to steady himself.   
  
Then he was above the towers, still inching his way upward. Castle Black lay below him, etched in moonlight. You could see how stark and empty it was from up here; windowless keeps, crumbling walls, courtyards choked with broken stone. There were no walls to the south of Castle Black. It was completely unguarded from the south but the Watch needed no protection from the south. The only defense it needed was to the north and the Wall provided it and more. Farther off, he could see the lights of Mole's Town, the little village half a league south along the kingsroad, and here and there the bright glitter of moonlight on water where icy streams descended from the mountain heights to cut across the plains. The rest of the world was a bleak emptiness of windswept hills and rocky fields spotted with snow. He wondered if Ashara had gone to sleep in her castle and what his little nephew was doing. He smiled knowing that Ashara has always had better sense than him and would be in her warm chambers, sleeping unlike him who skipped the warm bed to be in the cold.   
  
Finally a thick voice behind him said, "Ser Arthur, we did not expect to see you here." The cage jerked to a sudden stop and hung there, swinging slowly back and forth, the ropes creaking.  
  
"Pardon me," Arthur said, "I won't take much of your time." There was a grunt and a loud groaning of wood as the cage slid sideways and then the Wall was beneath him. Arthur waited until the swinging had stopped before he pushed open the cage door and stepped down onto the ice. A heavy figure in black was leaning on the winch, while a second held the cage with a gloved hand. Their faces were muffled in woolen scarves so only their eyes showed, and they were plump with layers of wool and leather, black on black. 

"Take all the time you need, Ser," the one by the winch asked. "Even us in the north know who you are."

"Don't let me keep you from whatever it was that you were doing," Arthur told them. The men exchanged glances with him and then walked to the small wooden shack which stood under the great crane. Arthur saw the dull glow of a brazier and felt a brief gust of warmth when the winch men opened the door and went back inside. And then he was alone.  
  
It was bitingly cold up here, even colder than the ground. The top of the Wall was wider than the kingsroad was in most of the places but still, it was thinner than the base had been. It was wide enough for a dozen mounted knights to ride abreast. Catapults, cranes, and trebuchets were kept all along the way, studded in ice. The brothers had spread crushed stone across the walkways, but the weight of countless footsteps would melt the Wall beneath, so the ice would seem to grow around the gravel, swallowing it, until the path was bare again and it was time to crush more stone.

He looked off to the east and west, at the Wall stretching before him, a vast white road with no beginning and no end and a dark abyss on either side. West, he decided, for no special reason, and he began to walk that way, following the pathway nearest the north edge, where the gravel looked freshest.

The wind swirled around him, gravel crunched beneath his boots, while ahead the white ribbon followed the lines of the hills, rising higher and higher, until it was lost beyond the western horizon. He passed a massive catapult, as tall as a city wall, its base sunk deep into the Wall. The throwing arm had been taken off for repairs and then forgotten; it lay there like a broken toy, half-embedded in the ice.  
  
On the far side of the catapult, a muffled voice called out a challenge. "Who goes there? Halt!"  
  
Arthur stopped. "I hope I'm not troubling you," he said gently.  
  
The brother moved closer, covered in his layers of fur and leather, the hood of his cloak pulled down over his face. "Ser Arthur," he said in a surprised tone as if he'd seen him before, yanking loose the scarf to uncover his mouth. Though not as tall or handsome as his older brother had been there was now doubt that Benjen Stark is Lord Eddard's brother. He carried a heavy spear tipped in iron, taller than he was, and a sword hung at his side in a leather sheath. Across his chest was a gleaming black warhorn, banded with silver.  
  
"I'm sorry, if I caused any trouble," Arthur said. "I wanted to see from the top for once."  
  
"Its not at all a trouble," Ben Stark said, beaming.  
  
Arthur remembered the boy Ashara had talked of at Harrenhal. He looked older and bigger now, no more the boy but a man of the Night's Watch. He wondered how his life would've been if not for the help he'd done to Rhaegar and his sister. He might've been with his brother at Winterfell. Andrew might've had an uncle around him as he grew up. "I see you're guarding the realm tonight?" he asked.  
  
"I have drawn night guard," Benjen said.

Arthur looked out into the wild vastness that opened before him to the north. "Lord commander Mormont told me that you made the Rangers."

"I did," said Benjen, smiling, with all the proud of a young man of fifteen. He could not have been older than that. Younger than his sister and paying for her mistakes. For a moment he could only pity his sister's goodbrother for the life kept before him. The world has played a cruel jape on his life. Lyanna got a throne for all she did while Benjen gets the Wall.

"That's good," Arthur said.   
  
Benjen Stark turned to look north. "I have a mile of Wall to guard. Will you walk with me?"  
  
"Sure," Arthur said. That much he could do for the boy.   
  
They walked in the night, one dressed in dark and the other in white. "Did you see Andrew on the way?" Benjen asked.  
  
"I did." Arthur said.   
  
"He looks more like Ned that I fear he will inherit his solemnity." Benjen Stark laughed.  
  
Arthur could not help but smile at that.  
  
"Will you go back to Winterfell on your way back?" Benjen asked him.   
  
"I'll be leaving by sea from the Eastwatch."  
  
"Oh," Benjen sounded strangely sad. "How is my sister?"

"She is . . . " Arthur hesitated. How is she? He searched for a word but none of them would satisfy Benjen Stark. "She is well," he said at last. "Taking her duties as queen easily."

"She hated that," Stark said suddenly. "Will you bring my word to her?"  
  
It seems as if people were asking much of him today. Yet Arthur Dayne nodded his head.   
  
Benjen thought for a moment. "Tell her that I am happy here at the Wall," he said at last. "Tell her that its not her fault. She would feel miserable thinking that its her fault."  
  


If she ever felt bad about what happened to you I've yet to see it. But he held those words. "I will," Arthur said. 

"Thank you, ser Arthur." Benjen Stark pulled off his glove and offered his bare hand.

Arthur found himself oddly touched. He pulled a glove off with his teeth and clasped Stark by the hand, flesh against flesh. Benjen's grip was firm and strong.  
  
When he had donned his glove again, Benjen turned abruptly and walked to the low, icy northern parapet. Beyond him the Wall fell away sharply; beyond him there was only the darkness and the wild. Arthur followed him, and side by side they stood upon the edge of the world.  
  
The Night's Watch permitted the forest to come no closer than half a mile of the north face of the Wall. The thickets of ironwood and sentinel and oak that had once grown there had been harvested centuries ago, to create a broad swath of open ground through which no enemy could hope to pass unseen. Arthur had heard that elsewhere along the Wall, between the three fortresses, the wildwood had come creeping back over the decades, that there were places where grey-green sentinels and pale white weirwoods had taken root in the shadow of the Wall itself, but Castle Black had a prodigious appetite for firewood, and here the forest was still kept at bay by the axes of the black brothers.  
  
It was never far, though. From up here Arthur could see it, the dark trees looming beyond the stretch of open ground, like a second wall built parallel to the first, a wall of night. Few axes had ever swung in that black wood, where even the moonlight could not penetrate the ancient tangle of root and thorn and grasping limb. Out there the trees grew huge, and the rangers said they seemed to brood and knew not men. It was small wonder the Night's Watch named it the haunted forest.  
  
As he stood there and looked at all that darkness with no fires burning anywhere, with the wind blowing and the cold like a spear in his guts, Arthur Dayne felt as though he could almost believe the talk of the Others, the enemy in the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick look at Arthur before turning back to Winterfell once again. Christmas has kept me a little busy but I will be back at my writing schedule soon enough. Hope you guys are safe and thank you for reading.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Ashara** _

A huge log, lying upon a bed of red-hot embers, flamed in the fireplace. The green, diamond-shaped panes of the windows permitted the pale light of the morning to filter into the room.

Sitting upon a high oaken chair brought in fresh from the handiwork of the woodworker in Winterfell, its back surmounted by the two direwolves of Stark with the star of House Dayne at the center, positioned at the point where the wolves met together, a quill in her hand, her fingers moving over the parchment in blinding grace, Ashara gazed vaguely at her words, at the glow in the hearth.

She had been told that her father's friend would arrive at Winterfell by today and Ashara had been preparing to receive him well into her new home. Her day has been filled with writing letters and sending ravens to her families in the south. She might want to bring in some supplies from her mother's home in Oldtown. 

When she was done with her letters, Ashara deftly poured the heated lilac wax onto the letter and pressed the sword and falling star insignia of House Dayne on the letter. She still stayed with her personal arms rather than just using Ned's own to show that she was as much a Dayne still as she was when she had been Lord Eldric's daughter. Just as she was finishing with the letter the door opened and Lynora entered the solar. 

"Did you call for me, my lady?" Lynora asked, her hands tucked in obediently in front of her.

"Yes, my dear," Ashara replied giving her a smile. "I want you to give this letter to Maester Walys and ask him to send it to the High Tower."

She sat up straight in her chair, and set her quill and inkpot aside. "My father's friend, Jachos Baqq, has announced his coming from White Harbour today. See that he is shown in to me as soon as he arrives."

"Is he coming from Essos, my lady? I haven't seen someone so far away from the North." Lynora chuckled. 

Sometimes Ashara seemed to forget how young her handmaiden was or how young she was. The heavy press of the duty that has been floating around her has made it so easy to forget the innocence of her youth. 

"They don't look so different from us," Ashara told her handmaiden, smiling. "Well, except for maybe the clothes."

The door opened and another of her ladies entered, this time a highborn lady a whole year younger than her, Jonelle Cerwyn. Her father Lord Medger of Castle Cerwyn had sent his sixteen year old daughter to be in service of the Lady of Winterfell. The Lord had hoped that in time his daughter might become the best of friends with Lady Stark and perhaps find a place for herself in the good graces of the Starks. 

"My Lady, My lady," she cried, "Lord Andrew, he has grown fussy."

"Has he?" Ashara asked with a smile. "Bring him to me." Maybe it's time for his feeding. Ashara didn't know how long her duties had kept her occupied. She had left Andrew with Jonelle when she came to pick up her duties for the day. She must have been here for some time now and Andrew must have missed her. 

Lady Cerwyn ran out and came back with her son a moment later. She had dressed Andrew in a pale grey woolen suit patterned with stars and direwolves Ashara had embroidered herself. Her son was squirming in Jonelle's arms, throwing his hands around, pushing away the ermine furs amongst which he was laid in order to keep him warm. Lady Cerwyn deposited her son in her arms. 

"Well, have you missed mama, sweetling," Ashara said, leaning down to stroke his cheek. 

The infant smiled at her, giggling happily. Ashara pinched his nose lightly, making him grab her finger with his tiny fists. Ashara let him hold onto her finger, waving his free hand at her face. Her ladies closed in behind her looking at her son in delight, gasping at the happiness they found at his sweet face. Not very long ago Ashara had looked at Prince Aegon in Princess Elia's arms the very same way Lynora and Jonelle looked at Andrew now. 

"The little lord just wanted his mother," Jonelle smiled at the realisation.

"Ain't that the truth, dear Andrew," Lynora said.

Ashara gave a brief smile. Andrew pulled her finger into his mouth. "No," Ashara told him, getting her finger out of his mouth. Her son looked up at her and cocked his head to the side wondering what it meant. He cooed and reached for her once again, making them to burst into giggles like girls. 

"When would he talk, my lady?" Jonelle asked. 

"I don't know," Ashara admitted. "He still got a long way to go, I'd say."

Like all the others in Winterfell, Ashara was eagerly waiting for her son to walk and talk as well. Every parent wants to hear his or her baby’s first word. From his cooing to making short sounds, Ashara had been delighted at everything and she couldn't wait to hear him eventually call her mamma and Ned papa and then form words and phrases. Her baby’s first smile had thrilled her and she couldn't wait for his first word and his first step.

They were gushing over the sparkling infant when the knock came on the door. "Come in," Ashara said, gently rocking her son in her arms. Alyn entered her solar and bowed his head. "Master Baqq is here, my lady," he said. "Lord Stark said you would want to meet him."

Ashara smiled warmly at him. "I would very much like it," she said. "Show him the way to my solar." There was a great natural authority in her voice and Alyn left at once bowing his head.

"Jonelle will you be a dear and watch over Andrew while I meet with Master Jachos," she said to her lady. "Show him some of the pictures from the books if he grows impatient. I'll be back as soon as I finish with this meeting."

Lady Jonelle bowed. "As you say, my lady," she said. Ashara pressed one last kiss at her son's tiny forehead and handed him over to Jonelle. "Lynora hand the letter over to Maester Walys." As her ladies left the solar, Alyn returned with Jachos Baqq.

Ashara stood up from her seat to greet the old friend of her father. The man who entered was a elderly man in his fifties, his once brown beard had turned to grey and on his head he had gone completely bald. His red boots were made of fine leather and the cloak hanging from his shoulders was large enough to cover a bed. The last time Ashara had seen him, she had been a freshly flowered maid of thirteen. It was from the handy craftsmanship of the glassmith that her glass slippers had been made into a reality. Behind him was a huge man of almost seven feet tall, with thighs like trunks of oak-trees, and hands like maces. With a double handed axe at his side, he looked as if he were going to some war. The giant of a man must be the personal guard of Jachos, she thought. He indeed looked like one. 

Her father's friend took his gloves off as he approached her with a smile. "Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, you look radiant as ever." The elderly man put one arm around her shoulder and hugged her gently. 

"Thank you, uncle Jachos," Ashara told him. "Did you have a good crossing?'

"Horrible, my lady of stars, quite appalling," Jachos told her. "There was a storm to make you bring up your guts and your soul as we crossed the narrow sea. I thought my last hour had come and began to prepare for my last moments. Fortunately the storm had deemed my soul unworthy of claiming."

He burst out laughing and Ashara smiled lightly at him.

"And, by my life," he went on, "I'm more suited to travelling upon dry land than crossing salt water. And if it weren't for the love of you and the love I had for your father I wouldn't have taken this voyage."

"I thank you for coming here to Winterfell on my requests," Ashara said.

"Well, when a Dayne calls for my presence I shall be there without any fail," he said. "I had promised as much to your lord father and I shall promise that to you. You can call for me anytime, Ashara."

"I am truly grateful for that," Ashara told him. 

"What is that you wanted my assistance with?" Jachos Baqq asked with a little bow of his head. 

Ashara gestured with her hands for his to follow her out of the solar. "Would you take a walk with me?" she asked as she moved over to the door. "It would be better if we have the talk outside."

"Of course, fair lady," her father's friend said. "Lead the way."

Ashara walked through the corridors with the Myrish merchant following beside her and his guard following close behind. She led them from the Great keep along the covered bridge which connected the Great Keep to the armoury. 

"I heard about your father, Ashara," Jachos Baqq said. "I am sorry for your loss. I wanted to come at once when I heard about it, but the politics in my own city had kept me occupied."

At the mention of her father, her face turned to glum. She still mourned her parents, often times shedding tears in her prayers to the Old gods and the New for giving them rest. She grew sad as she thought about it again. The Lady of Winterfell looked out of the bridge through the window, trying to hide her sadness. Outside she could see the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass gardens, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, some of the girls gossiping beside the washing well. The pleasant sight of peace warmed up her heart a bit. Ashara prayed that she should see only such peaceful sights ever in her life. 

"You said you were occupied with Myrish politics," she said. "I hope everything is good at back home."

Jachos sighed heavily.

"You wouldn't see the city now as it was in the time of your father's visit," he said, shaking his head. "The two rival factions within the free city of Myr are fighting over each other for supremacy. There are riots, assassinations, poisonings, rapes, hangings, tortures within the walls of the city every day. I believe it's not so long for the battles to happen, both on land and on sea."

Ashara looked back at him surprised. She had not known that there was a civil war raging in the Free City. She had known that her father's friend was a respectable magister in the Myrish court and he held a high position in it. She wondered if her uncle had chosen a faction as well and if his faction was winning or losing. Ashara hadn't thought that there were politics and plots and schemes in the free cities. Power breeds plots and schemes and blood and death, she thought to herself, no matter on which end of the world it was. 

"I didn't know it was that bad, uncle master," Ashara said to him. 

"No, that isn't the worst of it," Jachos Baqq laughed. "The Triarchy in itself is on the verge of breaking. Tyrosh and Lys are preparing for war with each other and Lombard is trying to feed the fire and take advantage instead of trying to make peace."

"Well, whatever happens if the east," said Ashara, climbing down the stairs of the armoury. "Know that you always have our support, uncle." In the lower levels of the armoury, two guardsmen were checking out the blades and the feeling of new swords in their hands. They bowed their heads when they saw Ashara. She nodded to them and left the armoury. 

"That is good to hear, Lady Ashara," the Myrish magister said. "As of late I'm sorely tempted to take my family and ships and leave the city for good. But the loyalty for my home in my blood runs thicker than I thought it to."

She led the way through the small open spaces, across the godswood and reached the glass gardens of Winterfell.

"Look at that," the myrman cried. "That is wonderful." He moved over to the immense glass structure and looked at the green and yellow glass panes locked in leaded frames in wonder. "This is flawless structure, Ashara. What do you want me to do here?" 

Ashara entered her gardens. She could feel the warmth as soon as she stepped inside the glass house. Like the Great Keep the glass gardens were heated by the hot springs, which had turned it into a place of moist warmth. The warmth inside reminded her of the warm, sunny days from her girlhood in Dorne. The days where she would run around barefoot with her long hair, flowing wildly behind her as her brothers chased her around before jumping into the Torrentine to swim with the fishes. 

"This is the glass gardens of Winterfell," Ashara told him. "We use it to grow fruits, vegetables and flowers. With the increasing inhabitants of the castle, I wanted to extend it. Or maybe make another one like this, quite bigger than this structure."

"This is magical. I could feel the heat as if I have entered the Red Temple of R'hllor." He spoke excitedly, gesticulating, walking up and down the length of the gardens amidst her line of roses, looking around at the glass building. "That is an impressive plan I should say. I don't want to touch any of this. However, I could build another one just like this glasshouse. One better and bigger with purple glass panes much like this beautiful violet rose to make it look like a magical world." 

"That is such a good news, uncle Jachos," Ashara told him. "When will you be able to start the construction?"

"As soon as you give us the command," the glassblower said. He walked out of the glass gardens and looked around the the empty space around. Ashara followed him and stood beside him. 

"We would have to break this wall and get some space for this plan, my lady." The man pointed at the wall separating the gardens from the godswood. 

Break the wall and annex some space from the godswood. Ned would not like it. But the space was needed to make another glass structure bigger than the old one. And the lands closer to the hot springs would probably be the most fertile and might give bountiful harvest. They all have to make some sacrifices in order to gain something. "Very well," Ashara said, sighing. "I will speak with Ned and get the work started as soon as possible."

"In the meantime, I will send men to Myr to bring the best glass for your gardens and my best men to work on the project, my lady," Jachos Baqq said. "I will go make the preparations right away."

"Thank you, uncle," Ashara said and watched as the myrman left with his guard following him like a shadow. 

Ashara waited there for the moment, hoping that everything would go according to plan. She left the gardens straight to her husband's solar. Ned was talking with Maester Walys when she arrived. 

"... no more than that," her husband was saying to the maester, standing beside the chair. "I will not have the whole forest cut down for the sake of a few more ships. We only need a few ships to protect our coasts."

"As you say, my lord," Maester Walys bowed his head. 

"What's that?" Ashara asked as she entered the solar. 

"Lord Manderly has asked for Lord Eddard's permission to cut down more trees for the building of fleet, my lady," the maester said. 

"He had his orders to cut down only a certain amount of trees for the ships," Ashara said at once. "No more lumber should be cut down from the woods."

"I will send him word of your commands, my lady," Maester Walys replied. 

Ned seized her hand when she placed her hand on his chair and pressed a kiss on it. "Did you meet with your father's friend, Ash?"

"I did," Ashara said. Ned turned her hand around and placed soft kisses along the inside of her wrist. 

"Perhaps I should withdraw," Maester Walys said.

"No," Ashara said. "We will need your counsel." She pulled her hand back and sat on the chair in front of Ned.

Ned scrunched up his solemn face. "What is it Ash?"

"I have asked master Baqq to build up another glass gardens in Winterfell beside the existing gardens," Ashara said gently. "Uncle Jachos thinks that we would need some space to add the new compartments."

"And?" Ned asked her, still unaware of what she meant. 

"I have agreed to find him the place by extending some place from the godswood for the gardens," Ashara told him. 

Ned looked as if he didn't believe her words. He looked at Maester Walys and then back at her face. "You did what?"

"I said, I gave him permission to get some land from the godswood for the construction of the glass gardens," Ashara said looking straight at his eyes. 

"Do we really need this now, Ash?" Ned asked. "That too by taking land from the godswood?"

"Is the godswood going to feed the men through the winter?" Ashara cocked her head. 

Ned stared at her unable to answer. 

"It would help us greatly, Ned," Ashara continued. "We would not have to take the entire godswood, just a small portion of it." She turned to Maester Walys for support. 

Walys plucked at his chain collar across the length of his chest. "Lady Stark's plans has its merits, my lord," the maester told her husband. "A filled granary could worth more than coffers filled with gold during winter."

"So be it," Ned muttered at last. "I will get the men at work today." 

Ashara smiled at his dour face. She stood up and walked over to him. She sat down on his lap and put her arms around her husband's shoulders. "Thank you," she said and kissed him on his lips. Ned brushed a strand of hair back from her face and smiled softly. 

And just as her husband had promised her, the work started that evening. Ashara stood with her husband in the small courtyard as a company of masons were bringing blocks of grey stone from the summit of the ten feet high wall which separated the godswood from the glass gardens. Some were hauling on pulley-ropes; others, perched on a scaffolding, were seizing hold of the blocks of stone to the ropes, and the whole business seemed to be carried out amid extraordinary good humour.

"You know what, with all the building and constructions I really believe you are going to become the next Brandon the Builder," Ned said, holding her hand and watching the constructions. 

"Aw," Ashara leaned against him, smiling. "That's so cute. Ashara the Builder has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

They both laughed at that, watching the construction works starting in Winterfell standing together hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got this idea after asking myself this question, how big is Winterfell's glass gardens exactly? We know that Winterfell is huge, comprised of acres and hence there would be a good amount of population in the castle. It got me thinking how would all of them survive a harsh and long winter? Is the existing glass gardens enough to feed every mouth in the castle? It's never been mentioned as particularly big. So instead of playing around with the thought, I got the idea to build one much bigger and better in order to get a bountiful harvest even during winter. 
> 
> Hope you guys like the chapter. Leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading my story and have a nice day. Enjoy the holiday season. Happy Holidays!!!


	17. Chapter 17

_**Rhaegar** _

I am no traitor," the former master of ships declared. "I have always been a loyal man to your father, and now your own."

A steady drip-drip-drip punctuated his words, as the water ran off his cloak to puddle on the floor. The rains had been falling on King's Landing for most of the night; a light drizzle that announced the welcomed the beginning of summer after the false spring. Rhaegar Targaryen pulled his cloak about himself more closely. "So you say, ser. Words are wind."

"Then let me prove the truth of them with my loyal and leal service to you." The light of the torches washed the fine silver hair of Lucerys Velaryon in a low orange glow that made it look like the light of a bloodmoon. "I will serve you as faithfully as I had served your father. Give me a chance to prove my loyalty, your grace."

The pleas of the man was so convincing that any one else in his place would have actually believed everything he said. But Rhaegar had known him for a long time, ever since he had understood what happened at his father's court in the Red Keep. The Lord of the Tides had been a proud member of the lickspittle lords invested his father's council. They had enjoyed a great deal of power and privileges during Aerys Targaryen's rule and their fall had to come with the fall of their king. The Master of the Tides would be the last one of his father's loyal men to lose his position in the Small Council as the Master of Ships. 

Targaryen spearmen in dark cloaks and black iron halfhelms stood along the west wall of the throne room. The gold cloaks faced them from the opposite wall. The chill in the throne room was palpable. Half of the men had fought for his father when Rhaegar had intended to take back King's Landing. He sat on the Iron Throne like a man mounted on a crouched great black beast, its barbs and claws and blades half-shrouded in shadow. Rhaegar Targaryen could feel it at his back, an itch between the shoulder blades. It was easy to imagine his father perched up there, bleeding from some fresh cut, glowering down. But today another king sat the throne. Just a couple of feet in front of the foot of the steps leading to his throne, a table was set where the five members of the king's small council were seated. The king couldn't help but look at how things had changed in a short course of time. Not so long ago these men who enjoyed the favour of his lord father would have hurled out insults towards him and his friends just to please his father. Yet now, they had to stand low before him while pleading for his mercy and approval. And by the gods the new king was not so easily swayed like his father.

Rhaegar wondered if the man actually mistook him for his father, to make him dance to his tunes with fine words. The king knew for sure that they would take the same route they had taken with his father, something he had disapproved of for a long time. It was why Rhaegar had replaced the small council of his father the moment he had brought the king low. 

There were still some spots to be filled. Having sent away most of the small council members of his father, Rhaegar had replaced them with the members of his own. His trusted friend, the young Lord of Griffin's Roost, Jon Connington succeeded, old Lord Merryweather and the favourite pyromancer of his father, Wisdom Rossart as the Hand of the King. Rhaegar had already sent Lord Qarlton Chelsted away from his seat along with Symond Staunton. The king had sent word to Highgarden, asking for Lord Mace Tyrell to come and claim his position as the Master of Laws which Lord Staunton had left unattended. The vacant spot of the Master of Coin left by Lord Qarlton Chelsted was still left unattended. He had hoped to ask Prince Doran or Lord Tywin to take upon the offer but the king knew that the talks would bear no fruit. Lord Tywin Lannister would be too proud to serve beneath an younger man like Jon Connington and Doran Martell... Rhaegar thought it was better to keep the Martells far away from the court especially after what had happened to Elia Martell. 

From his father's small council only two men still held their position. The spider Varys and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Rhaegar had wanted to send off Varys following his father. But as much as he hated him, even the king had to admit he did a very good job at finding others' secrets. The spider had brought him news from Winterfell when Ashara Dayne got pregnant and then even before others could knew about the birth of the Stark heir Rhaegar knew about them courtesy of Varys. 

The King's Hand was speaking to the old Master of Ships. "We thank you greatly for your service, Lord Lucerys," he said. 

"But we won't be needing it anytime soon in the small council." The new King's Hand was sitting straight on an oaken chair and never smiled, the first of many things in which he differed from old Merryweather.

"You can either stay here in the Red Keep as a guest of the king or you can leave for Driftmark to take up your duties as the Lord of Driftmark back home."

Rhaegar took no issue with that. He had nothing against his father's loyal servants despite having heard more than a couple of insulting words targeted directly at him. All he wanted for them was to remove them from the power and hand it over to the men better suited to have it. "Escort Lord Velaryon back to his chambers," he said. And see that he remains there went unspoken. However loud his protestations, the Lord of Driftmark remained suspect. Not so long ago the man would have praised his father into vanity and tried to tell Aerys of how big of a traitor Rhaegar actually was.

As the echoes of Lord Lucerys Velaryon's footsteps faded away, Derek Darkfang gave a slight shake of his head. "I swear when we tried to take the city from King Aerys the man would have promised the king to bring him his grace's head."

Rhaegar could not deny that. No doubt Lucerys Velaryon and the rest of his father's small council did all they could to keep him from succeeding in his assault on the city. His entry inside the city meant their downfall and Rhaegar didn't need any exceptional mind to know that none of the would be so willing to accept that and leave in peace. "How many men-at-arms does Lord Lucerys has in the city?" the king asked.

"About half a hundred," said Derek Darkfang, "but even with joining his strength with his friends Chelsted and Staunton he won't pose that much of a threat. We can deal with them in a instant if you want for that. If it were up to me, I would send them all to the Night's Watch, and these lords Chelsted, Staunton and Velaryon with them. I promise you leaving them get away is only going to bring you troubles and further problems in the future."

"I will not have further bloodshed within the walls of my city," declared Rhaegar Targaryen. "The people are already living a life of terror and it will not ensue through to my rule. We have other things to deal with rather than discussing how to humiliate those disgraced men further. There are still high officers serving in the city watch who were loyal to my father." A dozen of his own men had been added to the gold cloaks, posted in the position of high officers while those who received the gold cloaks from his father were removed from their high posts. Rhaegar had raised Darkfang as the Lord Commander of the City Watch. An able man, martially skilled Ser Derek was better than the last one to lead the gold cloaks during his father's time. Rhaegar plainly meant to resist any balancing infusion of anyone loyal to his father still in the position of power. The more I do secure the city in my name, the better Rhaegar thought. But this was not the moment to provoke an open quarrel, especially after fighting a war which saw the end of the reign of his father only a short time before. Qarlton Chelsted and Symond Staunton had both brought armies to King's Landing. Whilst the king might have outnumbered them with his own army, Rhaegar did all he could to avoid further conflicts and bloodshed. "I want our own men to keep watch over Velaryon during his stay in King's Landing," he said in a conciliatory tone. "I would need to keep watch of his every move, Chelsted and Staunton as well."

The king turned to face the new Lord Commander of the City Watch. "Derek, I need you to make a quick go through of your men," Rhaegar told him. "Anyone in high positions from my father's time, should be replaced with your own."

"Consider it done," Darkfang said. 

Rhaegar stood up from his throne and climbed down the steps towards the table where his small council members sat. "And Varys brings new word from the north," the king said as he reached down to the table. He looked at the Master of Whisperers and bid for him to say the news himself. 

The eunuch clasped his powdered hands together. "My little birds bring me news that Lord Eddard is making alliances past the Seven Kingdoms and is preparing his kingdom for something big. He is strengthening his defences and gathering swords around him. A certain magister is on trade talks with Winterfell. They say that the birth of his son has emboldened Lord Stark and half the things happening in the North could be attributed to Lady Ashara."

"A falsehood most probably," Ser Gerold Hightower spoke up. Rhaegar turned his head to face the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. "Lord Eddard is your own goodbrother, your grace. He is a honourable man, not the one to fight his family unnecessarily."

He had been quiet throughout the session, having never once spoken a word... until now. Rhaegar could understand the reason for it though. The man shared blood with Ashara Dayne and kinship was a sacred bond. "Whatever it might be, the longer we let this go unnoticed, the dangerous it can become," the king said. 

"We haven't had any problems with the North yet," Jon Connington said, stroking his fiery beard. "Even with the tax penalties, we have received it without fail so far." 

"And Ser Arthur had gone to North," Ser Gerold pointed out. "If there is something strange going on in north, then we will surely hear about."

Or not? Rhaegar thought. He didn't think even if something was going there in the North, Arthur Dayne wouldn't give his sister up even if he knew the truth. The king grunted the words. "We will see if it is true or not with Arthur's arrival. I want to hear what the Sword of the Morning to bring back from Maester Aemon from Castle Black."

"There is also the issue of Storm's End to speak about," Rhaegar said. "What do you have on Robert? I am hoping you find no troubles with Lord Baratheon, Jon."

The Hand of the King shifted in his seat. "I have not found any troubles from Baratheon, my lord. So long as he stands alone without the support of the Stormlands we won't have to worry anytime soon..."

Rhaegar did not let him finish. "Keep the situation defused in that way. I will not want him making problems anytime."

"Yes, of course, your grace," Jon Connington said. "I will send instructions to my cousin to keep Robert under watch and the situation under control. 

"Your grace," Grandmaester Pylos handed him a rolled parchment. "There has been a letter from His High Holiness."

Rhaegar knew what the contents of the letter was even before he opened and read the words. He has been at talks with the High Septon for several weeks now. With the battle and sudden change of power from his father to himself. With the changing of kings so quick like winds with an year, he never got the chance to be properly crowned by the High Septon anointed by the Seven like Aegon the Conqueror and all the Targaryen kings after him. He would have to keep up with the custom or risk not being acknowledged as the rightful King in the realm especially after taking the crown from his father in battle. 

"The High Septon is insisting that the coronation takes place in the Sept of Baelor only after the tensions within the city has toned down somewhat," Rhaegar told them. 

His brother snorted. "What have we become, when kings and high lords must dance to the twittering of sparrows?"

"We have foes on every hand, brother," Rhaegar reminded him. "In the north, in the east and in the south. Defy the High Septon, and we will have blood running in the gutters of King's Landing as well. If we are seen to be going against the gods, it will only drive the pious against us including the smallfolk who prays to those gods for a good harvest and a long summer."

His brother remained unmoved. "We should have the coronation here in the Red Keep all on our own. Why should we bother with what the old man has to say about it?"

Sometimes Rhaegar wondered if his brother was just too thick headed to not even able to see the plain truth in front of him. Viserys overlooked a lot of things which might make a great difference in life. "That one old man speaks for all the men who follow the Faith of the Seven, brother," Rhaegar told his brother. "He speaks with the voice of all those people and the new gods."

Rhaegar wished that he could share Viserys' certainty about the High Septon. But he knew his brother differed from him in a lot of other ways. "The High Septon holds more than just a crystal crown and a long staff, Viserys," the king continued. "You should know about that."

"Let the gods grant him some good sense then." The words were grudging, and barely a joke for his brother. 

"If that's all then we can discuss the other things later," the king said and his council members agreed. 

"I will go get the list you asked for at one, your grace," the dip of the chin Derek Darkfang gave the Lord Regent the most cursory of bows. But it was something, and for that much Rhaegar Targaryen was grateful. At least Darkfang was mindful of his duty in starting it at once. The sooner the issues within the walls of King's Landing could be taken care of, the sooner he could turn his attention towards the threats brewing in the north. 

His brother left the hall with Darkfang hoping to find some action in his business with the gold cloaks, the gold cloaks under Darkfang following right behind them carrying their spears. With that done, he had to deal with Ned and Robert as well. They are the only real danger, the king reflected as he remembered the young Lord Paramounts from the past. 

"Jon," Rhaegar called his Hand. "Send word to your cousin and ask him to keep constant watch on Robert."

"Robert, your grace?" The Hand of the King asked. 

"My cousin loves me not," Rhaegar said in gloomy tones as they stood in the darkness of the Throne room. "If there is something going on in the north, Robert would be in leagues closer with that."

"Storm's End and it's allies might take that amiss."

The king tugged at his cloak closer to his chin to keep the cold away. "Let them be, it doesn't matter. Better a bruised relationship than having a bloodied one."

The three men walked together from the throne room. Outside the rain was pouring down the outer ward. The rain was falling harder now, stinging the eyes and drumming against the ground. The running water had made the walls of Red Keep look like it was soaked in blood. 

"The rains have taken a sudden change in the last couple of days," said the Spider. "Have you ever felt such cold?"

Indeed the world was turning cold. And it was something the king had known that for a very long time. Ever since his birth Rhaegar Targaryen has been preparing himself for saving the realm from the eternal cold. Even though the cold winds of winter had not arrived yet, he knew that they would not be far away now. Already he could feel the chill in the air even though summer had barely begun. 

"The time to speak of the cold," Rhaegar said to the eunuch, "is not when we are standing out in it." He made his slow way across the outer ward, back towards his chambers in Maegor's Holdfast.

The others lingered for a moment on the throne room steps. "I put no faith in these lords who served my father who would no doubt have called be a traitor before his fall," Rhaegar told his Hand of the King. "You had best place a man within their holdings to keep hold of their actions."

Jon Connington gave a grave nod, understanding his reasons behind it. "As you say, your grace. But if it must put you at ease perhaps we should send them to the wall like we did with the others who fought in the defence of the city walls."

"No. There won't be any need for that. I won't be remembered as my father nor I will give any reason for anyone to call me that."

The Hand of the King nodded. "Of course, your grace."

The king pulled his hood up to cover his face from the rain. "You shall leave now. Go and find a warm fire. I mean to do the same." He yanked his gloves on and set off across the yard, leaning hard into the wind and rain as his cloak snapped and swirled behind him.

The dry moat surrounding Maegor's Holdfast was soaked with the rain water now, the iron spikes that lined it glistening with rivulets of water running on them. The only way in or out of Maegor's was across the drawbridge that spanned that moat. A knight of the Kingsguard was always posted at its far end. Tonight the duty had fallen to Ser Barristan Selmy. With Arthur Dayne off in the north meeting with Maester Aemon in Castle Black, Prince Lewyn Martell in Dorne to meet with his family, and Oswell Whent off in Dragonstone guarding his infant sister, only four of the White Swords remained in King's Landing. With Ser Gerold occupied with his duties in the Small Council the rest three were in Maegor's Holdfast protecting the royal family. While Barristan Selmy and Jonothor Darry were protecting the drawbridge, that left only Jaime Lannister to protect the rest of the royal family, his wife and son.

Rhaegar Targaryen hung his rain sodden cloak inside his solar, pulled off his boots, and commanded his serving man to fetch some fresh wood for his fire. "A cup of mulled wine would go down well," he said as he settled by the hearth. "See to it."

The fire soon thawed him, and the wine warmed his insides nicely. It also made him sleepy, so he dare not drink another cup. His day was far from done. He had reports to read, letters to write. And most importantly he had to prepare the realm for the Long Night and for that he needed the man's help. He never saw or heard the man come inside his chambers, but the fire burning in his hearth lightened up when the wizard spoke. "Your grace," Bezzaro said and that was just a start of all the information he had for the king. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar is being Rhaegar by still obsessing over the prophecy. So the changes that were long time in the making has happened and Bezzaro is also introduced in the story. Varys brings in the news from the north. What his motives were? There is also the search for a perfect master of coins for Rhaegar. The new king is tying up loose ends from the past which is not a bad move at all. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter. If you read my story leave a comment and let me know what you think. I would love to read your thoughts. As always thanks for reading my story and have a good day.


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